Unexpected
by Lolo84
Summary: He was just doing his sister one last favor by letting one of the girls from her shelter stay with him. He didn't expect her to be so young, he didn't expect her to be so broken, he didn't expect her to have a link to his past, and he sure as hell didn't expect to fall in love with her. Angst/Drama/Romance (eventually) AH. EPOV.
1. Chapter 1

**Everytime I start a new fic, I feel like I wanna shit myself! (TMI, I know, but it's true LOL) **

**There are no words for me to thank AJasperForMe for all that she does, and Miss January for helping me with this story! It's been in process behind the scenes for a while now! And though it's not _completely_ pre-written a lot of it is. So I'll be updating Every Saturday (keeping in mind RL doesn't get in the way)...**

**This will be the same EXACT version of what I'll be posting on TWCS so either site will work. I'm pretty sure I'll be in the running for slowest burn on the face of the planet, anyway! Lol.**

**Angst-wise (I know my fellow wimps will ask) ... Probably at about the same level as "The Girl at the Beach." It's more heavy on the hurt/comfort but there will be angst and told in EPOV.**

**Thanks for reading :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

"Mr. Masen?"

I look up from my desk to face my assistant and mimic her voice. "Yes, future Mrs. Crowley?" It's not that she has an annoying voice or that I'm trying to be mean. Really, I'm just trying to annoy her for the sake of it. Five years working together, four of which as my personal assistant, a brief dating stint—and probably the closest thing I have to a best friend—yet it's like pulling teeth to get her to call me 'Edward' during working hours.

Dark eyes—almost black—narrow back at mine. "Really?" she almost sneers at the nickname and I chuckle.

I nod, tenting my fingers on the desk and put on a serious face. "Did you come here to discuss your secret crush on our IT guy?"

"Mr. Masen—"

"'Cause I can put in a good word."

"Edward."

I smile. "Yes, Angela, darling how can I help you?"

"Your sister's on line two."

I groan. I don't feel like dealing with her right now. "Is it an emergency?"

"I didn't ask. But if I try and send her away, we both know she'll call again."

"Fine." I huff. "Send her through." She dashes out of my office and seconds later, my phone is ringing. "Masen," I answer gruffly.

_"Edward! Hi, are you busy?"_

"Yeah." I lie. "I'm about to go into a meeting."

_"But it's almost lunch time."_

I sigh. She knows I don't schedule anything too important mid-day, which is a wonder why she bothered asking. "What can I do for you, Esme?"

_"Sheesh, I just wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow."_

"Is your child of a husband going to be there?"

_"Edward."_

"What? It was just a question."

_"He lives here—so, yes he's going to be here."_

"Then no, sorry I can't make it."

Her response is immediate, as if she already knew what I was going to answer. _"It's really not fair you're not even making an effort. He really wishes you guys could be friends you know. You live a barely five minute drive away—would it kill you to just come over and hang out sometime?"_

"Not gonna happen." I scoff.

_"Edward, you and Carlisle are the two most important men in my life—the only men in my life. Can't you at least try? For me?"_

At that comment, I crumble. Like she probably knew I would. "Fine. But you tell him to keep all talk about his video games and shit to a minimum."

_"That's not all he does all day."_

"What else does he do then?" I'm met with silence, but I still try and challenge her. "What was that?"

_"Whatever. Dinner's at seven o'clock don't be late."_

Without a parting greeting, she hangs up the phone, and I roll my eyes at it as if she can see me. I have no idea why my sister's so set on me and her husband being friends but it's bordering on annoying now. I've asked her, several times, what the big deal is. I mean, it's never really of consequence to me whether or not she likes my girlfriends. I'm the one who has to deal with them, not her. But when I try to tell her the same about her husband she insists it's important 'just because it is'. I don't have a problem with the guy, well not really. Other than the fact he's seven years younger than my sister, is a lazy bum who doesn't have a job, and isn't good enough to even rake the ground my sister walks on and . . . okay, maybe I do have a _few _issues with him.

Do I care so much that at twenty-four years old he's seven years younger than my sister and five years younger than me? Do I care he has an unhealthy obsession with video games or that he's currently unemployed?! Separately no—but the combination irks the shit out of me.

I'm not one to question love, I know you can't help who you fall for, but fuck. Whenever I pictured my sister getting married, I assumed the guy would be her age and established in some shape or form. Or at the very least, he would be _trying_ to do something with his life—like attempting to provide for her, not the other way around. She pretty much takes care of him and _that _above all else is what doesn't sit well with me. He makes her happy, I presume, but as a brother, I just want more for her. Like someone who, on the outside, doesn't just look like he's living on her dime.

Turning my attention back to my computer, I stare at an email I'm not sure I want to open. It's from my pompous ass of a boss: Michael Newton.

"Angela!" I shout through the door. "Can you come in here please?" I'm ignored for a minute or so before I punch the 'intercom' button on my phone that reaches her desk. "Angela?"

"Yes, Mr. Masen?" I could hear a smile in her voice and I know she heard me calling her before.

Suddenly, I'm not in the playing mood. "Get in here."

The tone of my voice leaves no room for argument, and before I can press 'end' on the call, she's rushing through my office door with a pen and notepad in hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Why is Newton emailing me?"

"Uh . . ." she squirms in her seat.

"I know you opened it 'cause everyone knows to cc you on all my emails. So . . ."

"There's a situation."

"Isn't there always?" I scoff.

"This one's pretty big." Quickly losing patience, I roll my wrist over and over gesturing for her to continue. "Alright," she sighs, "apparently, a few of the guys . . . well, one particular guy has run into some financial and familial issues, and it would appear as though he's been using some of the company funds to take care of his . . . umm—"

"Get on with it," I snap.

"Okay," she snaps back, her face almost turning red. "Sam, the VP of the Tucson office, and his wife Lauren have been having issues. And it seems he's been getting his rocks off with a call girl named Emily."

"Okay?" I start chuckling. Not seeing how this is my problem.

"Maybe you should read the email."

So I do and I find Newton is far more to the point and less polite than Angela is. He's pretty pissed actually.

_Masen,_

_Sam fucked up. Literally fucked up and has been fucking some trick named Emily. What the fuck. Did you know about this?_

I look back up at Angela. "Did I know about this? Is he serious?"

"Keep reading."

_Now, this nasty bitch is making a laughing stock out of my sister and is threatening to go to the tabloids. We can't afford for that to happen. We can't have one of our exec's making a mockery out of us. Make it go away. Now! _

_CEO of Whitlock Investments,_

_Michael Newton._

"Make it go away? How does he suppose I do that?"

"There's more," she grimaces, "I did some research." I smile, Angela's good at her job. "Emily, apparently, is an _under aged_—"

I don't let her finish. "No, no, no." I groan. Then whine. "Come on!"

"And she's already gone to the tabloids. Now, I made a couple of calls . . . but chances are, no matter what I do, it's going to come out by the end of the day. At the latest tomorrow 'cause right before you called me in here, I was speaking to Jessica."

"Who the hell is Jessica?"

"Newton's new assistant, and she was trying to figure out a time for you and the board to meet."

"Angela," I say a little confused, shocked, and annoyed all rolled into one. "I'm just the CBO—a glorified publicist. Why do they expect me to deal with shit like this? I'm not a lawyer. Which is what I told them the last time there was some fucked up scandal."

"Yeah, but that last time—you were able to work your branding magic and the public was able to focus on the good side of the company. They want you to do that again, I guess."

"Yeah, but last time involved a CFO and a pill addiction. That's nothing." I wave my hands flippantly. "So, I didn't perform any magic there. I made his ass go to rehab and donate thousands of dollars to charity."

"And this time?"

"This time . . . I'm going to need a fucking miracle."

* * *

_*********Edward's title: **CBO- Chief Brand (Business; Business Development) Officer:** Is responsible for a brand's image experience, and promise, and propagating in throughout all aspects of the company. The CBO oversees marketing, advertising, design, public relations, and customer service departments. Wikipedia._

**Again, it'll be the same version on here and TWCS. I'll post it on my blog whenever's it's complete!**

******Soooo . . . what do you think? Are you in? **

******If you're going to review, please sign in! Anon's will now be deleted right away, and not read. Unfortunately, too many people have abused the system! ;-)**

******Muah**

******~Lo**

*******The banner is up on my blog and/or in my FB group! Made by Astrid :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys rock it hard! Thank you so much to the response for just the first chappie! I have no better way to thank you beautiful ladies than this early update! :-)**

**MissJanuary, AJasperForMe - Gah! *kisses* to you both!**

**Now, let's meet a couple more peeps!**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

"Edward!" My sister greets me a little too enthusiastically when she opens the door to her house.

"Ez." I kiss her on the cheek. "You look pretty." She ducks her head down, not one to take compliments well, even though she really is pretty by just about everyone's standards. We both have the same color hair—brown with some natural highlights that make it shine a little red in some lights. However, she spends hours at the salon in an attempt to exaggerate the red—while I like to keep it maintained at a length which showcases more of the brown. And her eyes are a lot bluer than my blue-ish grey ones that also chameleon to a green depending on the light, and according to Esme—what I'm wearing at the time.

We're both a pretty good height too. Me well over six feet—her about 5'7". Only difference is growing up she had a lot of weight issues. I still always thought she had a pretty face, but she still has an aversion to accepting that it's not a new thing only accompanied by her weight loss.

"Well, come in. Dinner's ready. We were just waiting for you."

"Let me just wash my hands." I hand her a bottle of wine. "I'll be right there."

She nods, telling me to use the bathroom in the guest room because the one down the hall smells like throw up. "Who's sick?" She doesn't answer, just telling me to hurry 'cause she's hungry.

After quickly washing my hands, I make my way to the table to see Carlisle and a red-headed woman I don't recognize sitting at the table. I give my sister a pointed look. Automatically, as anyone would, assuming this is a blind date set-up thing, but as soon as I'm introduced to Mrs. Victoria Biers, I stand corrected.

"Victoria and her husband Riley work with me at the shelter."

Victoria frowns. "I still hate that people call it that. Isn't there a better way to describe it? We're so much more than a shelter."

I offer a polite smile, then dig into my meatloaf and potatoes. I've heard this same discussion between my sister and her co-workers before. Though, I agree—they do more than what I assume 'normal' shelters do, but sometimes you have to call a spade a spade. And in the eyes of the state—and their business license—they're a shelter.

"I mean," Victoria continues. "We rehabilitate these girls. Support them through school. Provide child care for those who have children so they can work and or go to school. Help them find work, and what do they do? Expect us to send them on their way once they graduate high school or turn eighteen? That's hardly fair. If we were just a shelter, we wouldn't have an age limit."

I stay silent, eating and polishing off my glass of wine when I notice Esme—and surprisingly Carlisle—isn't drinking either."Did I miss something?"I ask, staring at their glasses. The table goes a little silent then. "What?"

"Hey." Esme smiles. "Did I tell you Carlisle got a job at . . . what's it called again, honey?"

His curly blond hair bounces a little as he shakes his head and I can see, even from where I'm sitting at the other head of the table, his blue eyes pleading with hers.

"You got a job." My eyes widen a little. "That's good, where?"

"My friend . . . well, my friend's cousin, actually, he mows lawns and shit, I mean and stuff. He owns his own company, and . . . umm, so yeah—I'm going to be mowing lawns and other gardening stuff." He says this a little sheepishly, but my smile is wide.

"Congrats, man. There are a lot of lazy fuckers who pay good money for people to mow their lawn. Me included." I snort.

He shrugs, still not meeting my eyes. "I know it's nothing fancy . . . but—"

"But it's something." I try and encourage him.

My sister looks over at me and the gratitude in her eyes makes me smile and wink at her. I couldn't give two shits if he said he got a job flipping burgers, cleaning toilets or if he was running to be the next damn president of the U.S.A— and she knows this. I'm just glad for the effort. I started in the mail room, pretty much, so I never under estimate what most people consider the bottom man on the totem pole.

"How's work for you?" Esme asks me, and I grimace.

"You know . . . the usual. Trying to make the company look good so people trust us with their money, young prostitute scandals—stuff like that."

"Umm . . . what?"

"If it's not on Gossipcop by now, try TMZ. Samuel Uley. It's there."

"I heard about that," Victoria pipes in. "Poor girl."

I don't comment. I don't know her or her situation to offer up that comment. But Victoria and my sister see a different side of the spectrum than I do.

"How about you?" I look over at her, then my sister. "What's going on at work?"

Boy did I open up the floodgates there. Apparently—because of situations they don't elaborate on—their grant funding took a hit. And one of the new stipulations of being able to stay at the home is the girls can't be older than two hundred-seventeen months old. In other words one month after their eighteenth birthday, they get the boot.

"Damn, that's kind of horrible."

"Yeah," Victoria agrees. "And some of these girls, most of them, aren't already graduated from high school by eighteen. So, instead of having the luxury of worrying about proms and homecomings—a chance to focus on their studies, they have to worry about getting kicked out of the only safe place some of them have ever known."

"And all of the donations?"

They both shake their heads, but my sister is the one who answers. "Money is just the tip of the iceberg. The powers that be simply don't _want_ girls who aren't minors living there. We'd have to make a whole separate entity for 'women'."

I start to frown, but then I look over at her with pride. "So what's your plan? You always got a plan, sis."

"Well . . ." she trails off and her and Victoria exchange a look. Carlisle, all of the sudden, is finding his plate very interesting.

"What?"

"We need a favor."

* * *

**Questions about age difference will get answered after we meet Bella! Promise ;-) And I think it's safe to say I'll be taking some artistic liberties. I mean, I talked to a few girls who've worked/visited shelters but to fit the story, I have to make up some laws that don't exist, or exaggerate ones that do! Ya know! :-)**

**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think and don't forget to sign in please!**

**Thanks,**

**~Lo**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"You have GOT to be fucking with me right now!"

"No, just hear us out!"

"Oh, I did. And it sounds to me like you want me to bring in some . . . some . . ." I struggle to find the words. "Some _young girl_ to live in my house ... with me—alone. Did you not just hear me explain to you Sam's situation with an under aged prostitute? Now you want me to bring a child into my home? Just ask me to sign my resignation letter while you're at it."

"First of all, Isabella is _not_ a fucking prostitute nor is she a child," Victoria snaps at me."If she were, we wouldn't be scrambling to find a place for her to live. We're sorry your 'image' is more important to you than doing some actual good. I guess I expected more out of Esme's brother."

The fucking nerve of this woman. "Victoria is it?" I glare at her. "Please don't presume to know shit about my life. You think because you work with my sister, know an ounce about her, you know a thing about me? If it wasn't for me—you wouldn't have a fucking 'Center' to work at," I seethe. "_My_ sister built that place from the ground up. My blood, sweat, and tears helped her. I'm the one who helped her pound the pavement, petitioning the courts to allow us to build. I'm the one who held her when she cried, thinking she wouldn't be able to pull this place off. And when we did, I'm the one who got my ass beat within an inch of my life, trying to help the wrong person. And damn near every month—my checks help put food on the fucking table there. Don't tell me what's important to me. Don't talk to me about my image. And don't you dare turn your nose up at me because I didn't give you the answer you wanted."

"Esme's pregnant!"

All our eyes snap to Carlisle's with varying expressions. My eyes show that of shock as well as wonderment as to why he would think this was a good time to bring that up. Victoria looks annoyed, probably due to him interrupting our conversation, the one that was finished—in case she didn't get the memo. And Esme's expression mirrors a deer caught in the headlights.

"Carlisle," she scolds.

He shrugs. "What? These two were about to kill each other." He waves both pointer fingers between me and Victoria. "And frankly, I thought this dinner was supposed to be about us announcing it to Edward. Not you blindsiding him with this weird request. I woulda opted out."

"Weird request?" Esme looks at him appalled.

"Uhh . . . yeah. We all know he's weird with the age thing as is. It's okay, man," he says to me when he notices my guilty grimace. "It's cool, it's an issue with some people. But, babe . . ." he's looking back at my sister now. "You already know this. So why would you think springing the idea of some girl he doesn't know living with him would go over so smoothly?"

And then she answers with something I never thought she would. Something I never thought she would bring up. "Because he did it once before."

"Really, Esme?" I throw my napkin on my plate. I'm not sure how asking me to help turned into—what I feel is—a personal attack. "I'm done. Thanks for dinner and congratulations."

"Edward, I'm sorry." I hear her broken whisper, but I don't turn around. I'm already making my way out.

"You had no right to bring that up." And I'm out the door and in the car before she can come after me.

I don't head home because my car seems to be more attune to my emotions and needs in a way even I'm not aware of. Before I even realize where it's taking its right and lefts turns, I'm pulling into a familiar dirt path. The gravel crackles under the tires of my car, and with each crunch, my heart rate speeds up and my fists tighten around the steering wheel.

Some people have a headstone, a grave site to mourn a lost loved one—but in this case, I don't. I have the memories, the reminders and the symbol of death. The spot where the one person I wanted to help, but couldn't, got taken away from me.

With trepidation I climb out of my car and look around.

It was a beautiful place once, covered with wildflowers—even some fruits. It brought peace and looked completely serene, fake, as if it could have come out of a book—a secret garden. And one day, I imagine it'll be turned into that again or maybe even a park. There's no telling. But now—now it's just a blank field, patches of grass spread around. It's abandoned, untouched, and dead. A site I've avoided for a while now.

Still, it's the place, the only place away from prying eyes that on the few occasions I've needed to, I come—drop to my knees and try to make sense of things. Try to understand what the point of it all was. Why God brings people into your life when he knows your only destiny is to fail them.

"I can't do it, Rose," I whisper out into the air. Then with a sigh, I let my head fall back and stare at the sky. "Can you even hear me? Can anyone?" I chuckle to myself. It's filled with resentment, guilt, shame. "A lot of people were convinced you weren't as innocent as you seemed." I shake my head, ridding myself of the thought process. "I didn't think that, though. I swear."

I remember—I remember her face, her eyes, her fear. "Sometimes I tell myself you died." I gulp several times to will the lump in my throat to go down. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to get emotional about this and I don't want to start now. "But that can't be true. It can't. You—you were strong you know that?" I laugh softly, silly memories flowing behind my eyes—an arm wrestling match to be precise. "Maybe … maybe that boy you talked about … maybe he got you out? Since I couldn't," I whisper the last bit. "I'm sorry," I apologize, mostly to myself, after promising I wouldn't dwell on shit as much as I used to. "I know I should help, I know I promised to, but . . ." I shake my head again—an attempt to get my emotions and thoughts in check. "How can I? I mean, I can barely step foot in that place, how can I even _think_ about bringing someone from there into my house? I couldn't help you, or your little sister. What makes Esme think I can help this girl?"

xXx

"Edward?"

I turn my chair around and see Angela standing in my office doorway. A sad look on her face. "It's not Mr. Masen today?"

Her solemn look doesn't falter. "Esme's here. She's . . . uh, she's not alone."

"Okay?"

"She says she's here with a Bella Hale?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

"Tell her I'm not in."

"She already knows you are," Angela protests. "Plus, she told me what she asked you to do, and I think it's a good—"

"If I wanted to know what you thought, I would have asked for your opinion. Now wouldn't I?"

Her nostrils flare and her eyes squint but she doesn't come back with a retort. She turns to stomp out of my office but when she yanks my door open, Esme's standing there—a girl in baggy clothes at her side. Her head is bowed and all I can see is a sea of long, stringy brown hair blocking her face.

When Angela lets them in, my glare is almost lethal. I want nothing more than to throw all three of them out of my office, but the sight of the girl clutching onto my sister's hand for dear life makes me think twice.

With a huff, I stand and make my way over to them. At the very least, I can introduce myself, but the movement makes the girl's head snap up. I stop short and my eyes widen looking over at my sister wondering if I'm seeing things. The color of the girl's eyes—the very distinct brown hue mixed with green and golden specks— is eerily familiar. Esme nods, and when I look back at the girl, my sheer size has her cowering away from me, almost as if she's trying to hide behind my sister.

She's tiny. Almost a foot shorter than me it seems, and looking at her face, I see she's young—really young and looks unhealthy as well. Even with her small frame, you can see she's underweight. And though her body's almost shaking with fear, her eyes look dead. Just by the looks of her, is confirmation enough of what I knew before: I'd be in way over my head if I took her in.

I take a step back, not wanting to scare her, but I wave my sister over to me. I don't want the girl to get caught in our cross fire. When she leans in closer, I bend my mouth down to her ears."Esme, get out of my office. Take her with you."

Her sharp intake of air indicates she's clearly surprised by my reaction, but I'm not sure what she thought was going to happen. I made my decision yesterday—forcing this girl in my face isn't fair to me or her.

"Angela," Esme calls her over. "Can you take Bella out into the lobby?"

"Sure." She nods, looking between us with a crease in her eyes.

As soon as they're out the door, both of us face each other.

"Edward, listen—"

"Ez, you need to leave."

"No, Edward, please just listen."

"Listen to what?" I cross my arms. "Your plan to try and guilt trip me some more? Tell me I think I'm too good to help? Is Victoria here as well?"

"I'm sorry about her," she rushes out. "That didn't go at all how I thought it would."

"And what about bringing her here?" I nod my head at the door. "Is that going how you thought?"

"Look at her face, Edward. Look at her eyes. Her last name is _Hale—_I know you know who she is. I know you know this is the right thing to do."

"So she might . . . _might be _Rosalie's sister. So what?"

"So you get a chance to keep your promise."

"No." I shake my head. "I promised her I would find her sister. That I would help her then, and we both know that never happened. _If _Bella is in fact her sister, it's ten years too late."

"She found us and it's never too late."

I sigh, trying to compose myself. This is all too much. No, this is fucked up is what it is."Does she know who we are? Who I am? That I tried to help her sister—and failed?"

"You didn't fail. God dammit you did the best you could."

We both know I didn't do the best I could. It was all about self-preservation the last time I saw Rosalie. I was tired, defeated . . . almost left for dead. But most of all, I was a coward.

"Spare me the pep talk!"

"And spare me the act of pretending you're not reeling inside!" she shouts back. "I know this is a lot for you to take in. I get it." Her voice cracks, making her pause and take a few breaths before addressing me again. "If I could take her I would, you know that, but I'm not allowed." She looks away now, and I frown when I see her blinking several times before looking back at me.

"Ez … I—"

"You're really all she'll have," she croaks out, grabbing a hold of my hand—squeezing and shaking it a little, "Please."

"God." I groan, letting my head fall back. "You're just like mom, you know."

The smile in her voice is evident when she answers, "You're more like her than you think. That need to help . . . she gave it to both of us."

"Yeah, but the annoying persistence, though, you got that from her. Hands down, I don't have that. I know when to let things go. Ya know, not forcing people into things." I give her a pointed look, but my anger and annoyance has long since started to evaporate.

Esme snorts. "Yeah, but at least I'm asking, begging . . . whatever. If mom were here, she wouldn't be. You would have came home one day and found out you had a new roommate."

We both crack up laughing at the memory. Growing up, our house was definitely a 'safe haven' of sorts. From time-to-time my sister and I would come home to find random people sleeping on our couch, or in the spare room. Once, when I was about twelve, I came home—after staying the weekend at a friend's house—to find my queen bed gone, and two twin beds in my room. A boy from church dubbed as my new roommate. He stayed with us for a few months while his mom was in rehab. Never one to forget what we did for him—he's also the person who helped me get my first real job.

"What do you think she would say about this situation?" I look down at my sister, who's now standing side-by-side with me against my desk. Her head resting on my shoulder.

"She would probably say you're being stubborn, and I'm being pushy."

"Definitely." I chuckle.

"But she would also say—"

"Be charitable and indulgent to everyone but thyself," we repeat at the same time. It was our mother—Liz Masen's—damn mantra, and if we ever even tried to act selfish or greedy with anything, she would recite that thing over and over.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I whine.

"Yes!"

I roll my eyes. "Calm down. This is only temporary, and as far as I'm concerned—I'm just the landlord, okay? She can stay upstairs, have her own space—away from me. I want nothing else to do with the situation."

* * *

**Quote: Be charitable and indulgent to everyone but thyself by Joseph Joubert**

**Some are iffy about Edward... All I can say is, at his core, he's a good guy, but he is human :-)**

******So, now we've met Bella, thoughts so far?**

******Have a happy Saturday! :-D **

******~Lo**


	5. Chapter 5

**To each and everyone of you for reading, and for Miss January and AJasper ForMe's help and guidance! Big thanks! *Hugs***

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

Shortly after my agreeing, Esme leaves— taking Bella _and_ Angela with her. Something about needing help with getting Bella some things to help her feel more at ease in my house.

In truth, I'm pretty sure they're just going to shop and tell Bella all the things to look out for. Things they find annoying about me. Well, I can make a lists of things they do to annoy the ever living shit out of me too if it ever comes to that.

I'm going through the lists of complaints, trying to figure out which situations I'll be able to diffuse the easiest—Sam's dilemma is at the bottom—when my phone cell phone rings with Angela's assigned ring tone.

"Yes, future Mrs. Crowley."

"_Whatever."_ I can practically hear her eye rolling through the phone. _"When can you get home?"_

"Why?"

"_Esme and I think it would be a good idea to show Bella around with you here. Help her get more comfortable."_

"Umm . . ." I look over at the clock.

"_Never mind, why am I asking you? I make your schedule. It's almost three o'clock and you have a meeting at four with Newton. And before you ask, no, I couldn't get you out of it."_

"But—"

"_It'll be quick'cause I spoke to Jessica and she thinks he's in some shit with his wife too and will probably be kissing your ass for ideas to make it right. That means it should wrap up by four-thirty, and you have nothing else after that. We'll take Bella for dinner or something, 'cause not sure if you've seen her, but the poor baby needs to eat, Edward. We'll also get some groceries—I'm sure you don't have shit. At that point, you shouldn't be home later than five-thirty six o'clock. We'll meet you at your house then."_

"It took you all that just to tell me make sure I'm home by six?"

"_Be home by six," she deadpans. _

I chuckle. "You got it, Boss! Hey, since you're going to the store can you get me . . ."

"_Yeah, yeah . . . gotta go, bye."_

With a smile, I hang up the phone. She's really one of the best and worst assistants of all times.

I quickly write up a few emails to pass time, pay a few bills online, and make my way up to Newton's office, getting out all my eye rolls and grumbles ahead of time.

Forty-five minutes—which I'll never get back—later, I've given Newton about a baker's dozen worth of ideas to woo his wife. My job sometimes . . . seriously, it's part I don't get paid enough and part: really? I get paid for this dumb shit?

Not bothering to wait until five o'clock, I pack up my things and drive the thirty-minutes to my house. And I'm shocked I'm able to get from Phoenix to Avondale so quickly at this time of day.

I'm surprised when I see Angela and Esme's cars outside. I'm early and if they did indeed go get something to eat and get groceries, there's no way they would be back by now.

Squeezing my Genesis into the tight space left on the driveway, I look over into Angela's car, which is almost identical to mine except hers is the sedan version versus my coupe. I notice Angela is in the driver's seat, Esme is in the passenger, but they are both completely turned around and facing the girl-Bella, who is sitting in the back with her head down.

Honking and waving, I signal my arrival since neither of them seemed to notice me pulling up. Bella's head snaps up, then back down quickly. I frown despite myself but quickly mask my face in composure when they step out of the car.

"Ladies," I greet them with a strained smile. Angela, Esme, and myself all know I'm not the biggest fan of this situation but the last thing I want to do is make Bella feel unwelcome. If her story's anywhere near what her sister's was, the last thing she needs is to live with a strange man who doesn't want her there.

I shake myself of those thoughts—reminding myself that I don't need to marry the two situations together. I don't need to get anymore involved than I need to.

"Right this way." I wave my hands over my shoulder, grabbing a duffel bag from my sister and ushering them inside. "Uh . . . the attic room's probably the best place for you to stay. Angela and Esme know the way. They can show you."

"Attic?" Bella's voice trembles with her question and the fear behind the one word is palpable. I try to explain that part of is actually finished and can stand on its own, but I'm not sure she hears any of it. "Please … I-I can't . . ." she looks over at Esme, shaking her head quickly over and over. She's yet to make any eye contact with me.

I look over at my sister and purse my lips. She knew my intention was to let Bella have that space to herself. Be out of my way, so to speak. Not for us to share the actual house. The only other room is down the hall from mine, and we'd have to pass by each other every day, making it virtually impossible to keep my distance like I'd hope to be able to do.

"We'll figure it out," Angela jumps in, putting her arm around Bella's shoulder. "How about we put these things away, huh? I'll show you the kitchen and you can help me make some quick dinner. We'll all eat together?" Now she's looking at me and Esme. I nod—'cause frankly I'm fucking starving and the least they can do is feed me to make up for my rising stress.

"Okay," Bella whispers—voice still shaky, her body tense under Angela's embrace. As they're rounding the corner into the kitchen she stops, head still down and whispers out a barely audible, "Thank you for . . . for letting me stay."

My voice comes out low and soft as well. "You're welcome."

Esme and I watch them leave, and wait until we can hear Angela's voice before we both sigh.

"Edward, I'm sorry," Esme starts in a murmur. "I'll talk to her about the attic, it'll be fine."

"Don't worry about it." I heave another sigh. "I'm way too tired with this situation already to haggle about this. The spare room's a disaster, it's drafty as fuck, and the bed in there is shit. If she's more comfortable in there, whatever."

"I'll talk to her."

With a squeeze to my shoulder, she releases my hold on the duffle bag and darts upstairs. I have no idea where she's actually putting Bella's things and I don't ask. At this point, I don't care. This shit's only temporary anyway.

* * *

**Right ... so taking liberties apply: If houses in AZ are anything like in FL (which they seem to be) any finished attic business is rare because of the way the central air and insulation goes down. However, I have seen it done before where people section of a part of the attic and make a room. Still, it doesn't double as another floor and the "stairs" is still that fold down ladder, but yeah :-)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**And if ya wanna discuss-feel free to hop on over to my FB group :-) **

**Until Next time**

**~Lo**


	6. Chapter 6

******Big thanks to Bridgette and Jen for beta and pre-reading support! :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

I keep my focus on my plate as my ears buzz with the low hum of the conversation going on around me. Angela and Esme are speaking rapidly—as they always do—barely aware of the other people at the table. I'm used to it, though, and don't feel an ounce of left out. But I chuckle when I notice Bella's head moving back and forth in an attempt to keep up.

She doesn't say much nor does she show much emotion. I've only witnessed the corner of her mouth lifting up a couple of times when she's caught on to a joke, but other than that . . . nothing.

My brows crease when I notice she's barely eaten any of her dinner.

I look down at my plate and see nothing but bones from the fried chicken, and a few scarce morsels of rice left—the corn almost finished, with just a few more scoops of my food to go. Just to make sure I'm not a savage I look over at Angela and Esme's plate as well and notice, despite all of their talking, they've managed to devour a good portion of their food. The three of us in total have more scraps than Bella has of real food on her plate. I narrow my eyes at it—dozens of possibilities of why she's not eating running through my mind.

"Why aren't you eating?"

Her eyes widen. "I-I . . ." she stammers, not answering before looking back at Esme.

"You know it's just you and I living here, right? And Esme will be leaving soon," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Edward," both Angela and my sister admonish me. Bella doesn't say anything, her head now down—again.

"What? I'm just saying, if I ask her something when Esme's not here, how's she going to handle it?" As dick-head-ish as my comment is in hindsight, neither one of them call me out on it. They both know it's true. And it's not just geared toward Bella—I'm looking at all three of them when I ask this. I've kid myself long enough, but it's clear they expect me to help out in some sort of a capacity that involves more than just letting her stay in my spare room. Whatever that may be, it's not going to work if she can't even answer a damn question about why she's not eating.

"This isn't going to work if you can't bring yourself to at least be comfortable enough to eat. So eat." As if it's an order, Bella quickly grabs a piece of chicken, wrapping her lips around it and taking three large bites—barely swallowing before forking some corn in her mouth.

"Slow down," Angela coos.

"Yeah," I agree, a little horrified. "I didn't mean . . . that wasn't ... I was just saying, you need to eat, in general, not . . ." and just like Bella had done so many times, I look over at Esme for guidance. I understand it now. This is so fucking uncomfortable, I don't know what to do. "I … uh, excuse me. I'm just gonna . . ." I gesture with my thumb over my shoulder. I need to get the hell out of this room. Fuck tension, you can cut the awkwardness with a knife.

I quickly escape to my room, something I imagine I'm going to be doing a lot in the days and weeks to come. Not bothering to change out of my clothes, I all but throw myself on my bed, burying my head into my pillows.

Even with the knowledge of people being downstairs, the house has a sense of quiet to it; stillness. Sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes I don't, but It's moments like these I truly let my mind wander. Tonight in doing so, I find myself reaching for the phone and dialing a number I swore off months ago.

That's how it goes with toxic relationships it seems. On a regular day you don't think much about them, you busy yourself and your mind so as to not dwell. But as soon as there's a moment of weakness, a day when things are off kilter, you reach out to that last bit of stability you had.

I cringe when I hear the screeching voice of that Carly Rasputin chick singing back to me. I realize too late I'm making a huge fucking mistake, and before I can hang up, my ex's voice comes on the other end of the line.

_"Edward?"_

"Whitney. Hey." There's a beat of silence, and it dawns on me I really didn't think this through as far as what I was going to say should she actually answer. I go with honesty. "So . . . you popped into my mind, and I just wanted to see how you're doing I guess."

_"Really?"_ I hear her inhale on the other end before letting out a dark chuckle. "_Oh, well let's see. I went on a date last weekend, but it was a disaster 'cause according to my date, I'm still hung up on my ex-boyfriend. Who, after dating for over two-years, abruptly ended our relationship without so much as an explanation—other than it's him not me. And that he wants us to 'just be friends'. So to answer your question, I'm doing peachy." _

"Whit, I'm sorry . . . I just—"

_"Please don't tell me you called to apologize, again, for breaking up with me. I get it, you were over the relationship. But it's been two months; I really am trying to move on. Unless you're calling to talk about us getting back together . . . then, maybe it's best you stop calling all together."_

"We were friends before," I remind her quickly. "Almost best friends, and I-I miss that. I miss you." It's true. We were vile in a relationship, but before that, she was a central person in my life. Her, Angela, and Esme were my three constants. The three people who would put up with my shit while simultaneously calling me out on it. But about six months ago when Esme got married—the change in Whitney was overnight. It wasn't just 'pressure' to get married, it was full out demands at times. I foolishly thought there was a chance to salvage the friendship we once had if I just ended it before we grew to resent each other for wanting different things. I want to get married one day. I ache for it to be honest, but not because someone feels they need to keep up with the people around them. And sadly, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't picture myself being with Whitney—in that capacity—for the rest of my life.

_"Yes, we were friends. But that's before I fell in love with you. Before I pictured having everything with you. I can't go back. I'm sorry." _

"I'm sorry, too."

_"Take care of yourself, Edward. I won't be waiting forever."_

"I don't want you waiting for me at all," I tell her honestly.

She let's out another bitter laugh. _"Thanks for that."_

"No, I mean . . . I just don't want you to think—"

_"Yeah, I got it. I gotta go, okay. Bye."_ And she hangs up.

With my phone in my hand, I rest my forehead on the side of my fist. That was obviously not one of my brightest moments.

"Edward!" I hear my sister's voice call from downstairs. "We're leaving."

Just as she says this, my phone chimes. "I'll be right down!"

Sliding the screen to see who texted me, I see it's from Whitney. I expect a nasty text maybe a few insults, but instead I'm awarded—I guess you can say—with a full frontal shot of her. Another chime comes through right after and this time it's a video. I click on it quickly, noticing the still shot is also of her bare in front of the camera. Only her finger has her lower lips splayed out. When I see her finger moves down to her slit, I close out of it.

Unfortunately for me—she got the reaction out of me she wanted. I close my eyes and groan, looking down at my dick. I don't have a full hard on. But it's enough that with the boxer briefs I wear and the light material of the dress pants I have on, you can see there's a bulge forming.

But at the same time, unfortunately for her—she doesn't get the response she must have expected. Because I don't respond to her text at all.

I quickly dash downstairs to bid Angela and my sister a farewell. Bella's standing with them by the door and gives me a quick once over before looking back at the duo—almost pleading with her eyes for them not to leave her. I'm too into my own world at the moment to bother being offended . . . or whatever by that.

"You ladies heading out?"

"Yup." Angela nods, walking over to give me a hug. "Call me if you need anything."

"Goodnight," Esme smiles, giving me a quick wave. Then looking back at Bella, she gives her a hug. "Try and get some rest, okay?"

She nods but doesn't respond. When they leave, she stays staring at the door while I stand about five feet or so behind her staring at the back of her head.

I clear my throat to let her know I'm still standing here. Her shoulders stiffen. "So ... yeah ... I think Esme put your things in the room upstairs or whatever," I say flatly. I have no idea if the sound of my voice bothers her or what, and I don't want to speak too loudly, so monotone and emotionless is what I strive for. "I'll be upstairs. If you need anything, or wanna talk, I mean no pressure of course, but . . . yeah, whenever you're ready for whatever . . . that's where I'll be."

Before she could respond, I make a mad dash to my room—leaving the door slightly open should she actually need me for anything.

Though I doubt she will.

* * *

**Carly Rasputin= Carly Rae Jepsen . . . hate that song. Sorry. :-p**

**I just gotta say, the love you guys have shown so far has been totally unexpected (*snickers* okay sorry *clears throat*) Really, thanks again to the ladies at Robattack for their kind words and TLS for nominating 'Unexpected' for fic of the week! It made it to top 5 and it made my freaking day! Thank you all for voting! If you haven't gotten a chance to ever check out these blogs, Shame on you! I kid, I kid. But, no really, their work- to me - is in an important aspect that should never go unnoticed. I know for a fact some people would have never found me or my fics without some of the recs... *hugs* and *leg humps* ladies!**

**Thanks for reading! **

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	7. Chapter 7

**Looks like the jury's still out against Edward, and even Esme and her tactics, but you all agreed on hating Whitney's presence LOL **

**Thanks to Bridgette and Jen :-)**

***deep breaths* for this one ya'll! **

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

I take a much longer shower than I normally do. Pretty much just standing under the scalding hot water for countless minutes and allowing the heat to work out some of the tension in my muscles.

I don't get out until I feel the water starting to cool down, and even then I feel as though I have to pry myself out of there.

When I do manage to extract myself, I take my time drying off—putting on lotion and the whole bit. The light is off in my room, and in the time I was bathing, it's grown darker outside. Though it's still pretty early, I find myself drained and immediately crawl into bed. Only to scream and jump up seconds later when I realize I'm not alone after fingers reach out to grab onto my shoulder.

Scrambling off the bed, I quickly turn the lights on to try and understand what's going on, and see who the hell is in bed with me.

"Bella? What the fuck?"

With a blank expression, and barely blinking she slowly makes her way off the bed, letting the sheets fall and makes her way toward me. "Oh my, God." I turn my back to her. "Bella, go put some fucking clothes on. What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm ready."

"Ready? What the hell are you talking about?"

She doesn't answer as I feel her hands trail up my arms. I jump back, making my way around her and grabbing the sheets off the floor—practically tossing them at her. She wraps them around her, thankfully, but then she frowns, which is the most emotion I've seen from her all day.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you serious?" I shield the side of my face to speak to her—fearful she might get naked again. "Other than you sneaking into my room . . . wait, you know this is my room, right? Yours is down the hall?" She nods in confirmation. Now I'm really pissed "Then, what the fuck?" I sneer.

To her credit, she looks thoroughly confused—as if I'm the one who has the problem—and without answering me, attempts to approach me again and rest her hands on my arm. I grab her wrist, more forcefully than I should, I'm sure, and slightly push her away. "Do not touch me, little girl. What game are you trying to play?"

"I'm not a little girl," she attempts to bite back. But her voice betrays her.

"Yes, you are. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

My eyes widen with so much emotion, I don't know what to do with myself. Without another word to her, I'm searching for my phone and calling Esme.

"_Edward? What's wrong?"_

"Get her the fuck out of here, Esme. NOW!" I shout, then click 'end' on the call. "You have to go." I point at Bella—who now looks horrified. "I didn't sign up for this shit."

"No . . . no, please. What did I do? I thought . . . I thought—"

"Yeah." My laugh is bitter, my tone harsh. "It's pretty fucking obvious what you thought." I reach into my dresser, pulling on the first t-shirt I find, then storm into the other room. "Where's your shit?" When I find her bag, I rifle through it, finding a shirt and sweat pants. "Put some fucking clothes on." I throw them at her. The shirt lands on her shoulders, the pants flying over her and landing on the ground.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

"Do what? Climb into my bed? Jesus fucking Christ—is that what you do? Throw yourself at grown men?"

"No! No! I thought you wanted me. I thought you said—" her eyes are filling with tears, her body shaking, but I'm not seeing straight. Before I can answer, the doorbell rings, followed by my sister's footsteps rushing up the stairs.

"What's going on?" Her voice is panicked, then her eyes narrow into slits at our appearance. My t-shirt is inside out. Bella only has a shirt on, not having a chance to put on the pants I threw at her.

"I thought he wanted me," Bella whispers brokenly to Esme.

"Want you? WANT YOU!? Where the hell would you get that from?"

"What happened here?" I look over and see Angela standing in the doorway of the room, hair rumpled and in her pajamas. I'm really starting to regret we all live so close together now.

I look over at Esme for an explanation. "You called Angela?"

"I wasn't sure what happened. When you called I didn't know what happened and I thought maybe Bella was in trouble, freaking out or something."

"Her freak out? No. She climbed into my bed, naked, while I was in the shower. I hardly classify that as a freak-out."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bella sobs out, bending to gather her things, but then her bag falls from her hand—creating a big mess. She almost breaks apart then, dropping herself to the ground, frantically trying to pick everything up while apologizing over and over.

"Stop apologizing. Just hurry up."

"Edward," Angela finally snaps at me. "Come with me. Now!" And with a grip on my arm she drags me downstairs and into the kitchen. She stays silent while she pours me a glass of water. "Drink this and calm the fuck down for a second." I gulp it down greedily, not realizing how dry my throat was, how thick of a lump felt lodged there. "Now, tell me what the hell happened." So I recount the last ten minutes or so to her. "Okay, I'll be right back," she says, grabbing the glass from my hand and pouring some more water in it before walking off.

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to Bella."

Five minutes later, a very exhausted looking Esme walks down the stairs silently. She sits down in a chair next to me, but doesn't say anything.

That won't do because she has some serious explaining to do. "She's seventeen."

"I know," she admits.

"You lied to me."

"Kind of."

"She's a troublemaker."

"She's troubled, yes. But, Edward . . ."

I stop her before she gets a chance to go further. "I'm supposed to excuse what happened tonight—is that what you're going to say? Ignore the fact a seventeen year old girl, who has no issues with getting naked and climbing into my bed, is staying in a room ten feet away from me? That's a fucking court case waiting to happen."

"She thought you invited her into your room."

"I would never—"

"I know that." She reaches over, grabbing my hand quickly. "You don't have to be upset. I know, we all know, you would never try and take advantage of her."

Like only a sister could, she nails the reason for my overreaction without missing a beat. 'Cause even I was wondering what got me so angry. Upset and annoyed would be rational—the rage I was just feeling ... fear personified.

"Did you tell her to come upstairs, to your room, whenever she was ready?"

"Never." I shake my head quickly, then realize . . . "I told her I'd be in my room if she ever needed to talk and that I wasn't pressuring her. I'd be here whenever . . ." I trail off. Dammit! "I didn't mean it like that."

"I get that," she says sadly. "But Bella doesn't. Well, she does now . . . but sadly, where she came from—what she's been through. All she heard and saw was a man, and I'm paraphrasing a little bit, but 'a man with a semi-hard on, telling her about his room and to come upstairs'."

With a groan, my face morphs into disgust. Not at Bella, or what she thought she heard—but at the imagery of some sick fuck saying that shit to her. "I'm not sick. I wasn't hard for _her_. Whitney had sent me a picture and . . ."

"You spoke to Whit?"

"Unfortunately."

There's a long pause of silence before Esme finally speaks up. "I think I'll stay here with you guys tonight."

"No." I shake my head. "No way is she staying."

"It's late."

"There are hotels."

"It's just for tonight and then tomorrow I'll work something else out. You were right . . . maybe this arrangement wasn't such a good idea."

* * *

**If the roles were reversed—if it was the female getting a surprise visit from a guy invading her bed … the reaction would be justified. I think it's only fair the same rules apply. I've heard and understand your beefs for him to be more sensitive... But this Edward is gonna need a little time. Trust him. Trust me.**

**Thanks for reading :-)**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Updating early since I won't be around this weekend! **

**Just a reminder, I had said this will be in the fanfic Guinness book of world records for slowest burn! (In my mind, that's a real thing Lol) So age aside, Bella is way too broken for anything to ever happen with her and E. Really, it's the furthest thing from mine/their minds. Also, the questions about why Esme lied since she'd technically be able to stay at the center (at least for another month) will all be answered soon! We cool? :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

When I wake up this morning, I feel a sense of unease. It's not a feeling of impending doom—like some big bad force is about to turn my life upside down. It's already been turned that way in the matter of a day.

It's more in reaction to the clusterfuck of last night playing over and over in my head. It's not just what happened with Bella, with me feeling a little ambushed, but afterward. After Esme left the kitchen to return upstairs and Angela left right after to go home—I walked by the room and could hear Bella sobbing. I did that. Not intentionally, not completely—there's no telling what else was conjured up in her mind, but still, my reaction to her surely didn't serve to help a damn thing.

Let's not misunderstand, because I'm still very upset . . . or more importantly, disturbed by her actions ... behavior—whatever you want to call it. I don't know what to make of it, other than the utter feeling of repulsion thinking about what she must have gone through. I don't want to think about it. As selfish as it sounds, I truly don't want to know. But it's hard not to wonder when something as simple as offering her to talk, that I would be available should she need my help—gets misconstrued into a request of sorts for her to what? Fuck me?

I shudder violently. She's just a baby for Christ's sake.

Turning over on my side, I reach for my phone and see it's still pretty early. I have about an hour or so before I would normally get up, and that's to go to the gym before work. Feeling it's ridiculous to lie around waiting for my alarm to go off, and needing to work out some frustration, I toss off my blankets and make my way over to the bathroom, quickly rinsing my face and brushing my teeth before pulling on some work out shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers.

The house is quiet, as usual . . . almost eerily so this morning. It sends a bit of a shiver down my spine, but when I make my way outside, I notice Esme's car is still there—it gives me a little bit of comfort.

It's barely seven o'clock, so the gym's not crowded. As soon as I walk in, I spot one of my favorite trainers—a guy named Emmett, who really only goes by 'Em'. We're not friends by any means, but I work with him the most. He's not pushy or intrusive like the other trainers, but he gives you that sense, if anything were to ever go down—he would have your back in a heartbeat.

"'Sup, Ed?" He smiles, giving me a nod while still sitting down with buds in his ears. His blue eyes are in a constant state of dancing, and his dark hair hidden under a beanie.

I stop in front of him and motion for him to take the headphones out. He does. "Hey. You busy with someone?" He cracks his knuckles and shakes his head no. Perfect. "I'm gonna do ten—" I motion my head over to the treadmill "—and then . . . maybe we could . . ."

"Yeah."

I give him another nod of appreciation. He's a man of few words, and with just one look, he knows what kind of workout you need. He doesn't shout in your face, calling you a pussy or whatever—this isn't fucking boot camp. But he doesn't let you slack off either, giving you just the little extra push you need.

I keep reminding myself to discuss him being my 'personal trainer' but never get around to it.

After I spend about ten minutes on the treadmill, I walk over to where I see Emmett standing by one of the benches. His head is down and I could almost see a vein on his forehead ready to burst as he stares at his phone.

"Everything cool?"

He purses his lips and looks at me. I see a minor war raging behind his eyes as to how to answer. I don't think he and I have ever really had a full on conversation about _anything_ personal in the two years he's worked here. Regardless, a decision is quickly made. With a tight smile he answers, "Yeah, everything's fine. Except my girl, well ex-girl now, is a bitch. Anyway . . ." And with that, I know 'bonding time' is over. "I haven't worked with you in a while, I'm not sure where you're at. So—" he gestures for me to lie down "—we'll start with fifty on each side, ten reps of ten."

"No sweat." And I'm a little smug, knowing bench pressing one hundred pounds is fucking child's play for me. That's squashed five minutes later after he's tacked an extra seventy-five on each side. When that's done, it's squats, free weights, and even a few suicides outside. Yeah, I'm feeling it, but the burn in my arms, legs, shit even my hands—'cause I forgot my gloves and damn near got a blister from the rough rubbing of the weights—is exactly what I needed. Just like he knew I did. "Thanks," I rasp out, around a bottle of water. "I needed that."

"I could tell."

"Right . . . so I was thinking about—"

"I'm here six days a week at five to sometimes closing. Here's my number," he hands me a card, knowing what I was going to say before I did, "text me your schedule and the days and times you like working out best."

"Thanks," I tell him again, reaching out my fist for him to bump it.

When I get home, the small smile that had been on my face in appreciation from working away some of my stress falls rapidly. My sister's car is not there.

"Ez?" I call out into the house, unnecessarily. I don't get an answer, but I'm shocked when I see the table filled with breakfast food. I can still smell the remnants of bacon, and walking over to the stove, I feel the heat radiating off the burners. I quickly make my way up the stairs, and realize the spare room is cleaned, and Bella's bags are nowhere in sight.

She's left—just like I asked her to.

And I'm honestly not sure how to feel about it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy Saturday! Thanks for continuing to rock it out with me and these guys! **

**Thanks, as usual, to Jen and Bridgette! And each and every one of you for reading...**

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

I try and swallow the food but it doesn't go down. It can't. I'm not hungry and as I stare at the array of breakfast, the main emotion I feel is contempt—at myself.

It's clear Esme didn't make this—I know this 'cause I know her style of cooking. No, this is all Bella. Even after me brutally telling her to leave my house, she had the compassion to make me breakfast. Could it be a manipulative tactic? A guilt trip? Maybe. But something tells me this isn't the case.

And then I see it; scribbled on a napkin lying next to the plate that had been set out for me.

_**I'm sorry :(**_

Not recognizing the handwriting, I quickly deduce it's Bella who wrote it. If it's possible, I feel even worse than I did before.

Picking up my phone, I quickly dial Esme's number, but she doesn't answer. When I look at the time, I realize she's probably starting breakfast and helping some of the girls, and probably their kids, get ready. So I leave her a message. "Hey Ez, umm just calling to …" I trail off—why _am _I calling? Right. "Uh . . . I wanted to see how everything went this morning. Like if maybe you were able to get Bella a hotel? Okay, so yeah, call me."

After hanging up, I send Angela a quick text letting her know I'll be working from home today. I couldn't get anyone to schedule a meeting with me on a Friday, even if I wanted to, so I know my schedule is pretty clear. There's no point in going in.

Plus, the guilt churning in my stomach is making it pretty impossible for me to feel like being a part of the outside world right now.

I stare back at the note—'I'm sorry'.

I flip it over and over in my hands as barrages of memories attack me from all sides.

More importantly, the reason I'm so damn apprehensive, and if I'm being honest, I'm scared completely shitless.

Meeting Rosalie Hale—remembering how scared and broken she was still haunts my memories from time to time. She showed up at our doorstep—the doorstep of the center—but made it clear she wasn't seeking help for herself. Her brown hair was long like Bella's, her unique color eyes even more lifeless. She was already 'fucked and damaged' she had said, but she wanted to know if there was a way to get her little sister—legally. I didn't have an answer for her. I was barely nineteen years old myself and only helping my own sister with what, at the time, we were calling a 'project'. Never had we thought, ten years later, things would still be up and running at the capacity they were.

Rose never even got to try and get her sister, at least not that I know of. The last time I saw her we were at the spot—my thinking spot—and just talking. She was particularly twitchy that night, constantly looking over her shoulder. She was supposed to bring her sister, they were going to 'runaway' but she showed up alone.

"If something happens to me, promise you'll find Isabella. Promise when the time comes, you'll help her." It was a pleaded whisper as she slid a small piece of paper into my hands.

I promised, but before I could question her more and probe like I normally did, men, men larger than me that's for sure—four of them—drove up like bats out of hell.

What followed was snarling faces, fists connecting with my face, feet kicking any part of my body they could find . . . metal against my back.

I had been in a few fights before, holding my own as best as a scrawny kid could. But this time was different, the look in their eyes—the look I saw in Rose's eyes, let me know this wasn't a fight. This was an attack and it was brutal.

I could taste the blood in my mouth, smell it in the air, hear Rosalie's screams—which matched my own—before the resounding echo of a gunshot followed by a commanding order to 'stop'. And everything did, the punching, the screaming, my breathing.

I don't know what happened next. Blackness overcame me. I woke up the next day, maybe even a couple days later, in a hospital bed with two pairs of hands gripping at mine. Esme was to my left, Whitney Call at my right.

I was shocked. We were barely close then—Whit and I. She was just one of Esme's classmates and it would be years before we became friends, and later lovers. But it all started with that moment, her being there when I needed someone the most.

A couple weeks later, and barely healed, I went on a search for Isabella. She and Esme helped me look.

The paper Rose had given me—had two words scribbled on it: 'I'm sorry', and an address scrawled on the back.

The address was that of a deserted looking house with remnants of clothes, toys, and some pictures and though it looked recently abandoned, in the end it led us nowhere.

I didn't look further, I couldn't. I was scared. And the cops, the ones who turned their noses up at me, were useless. They all assumed, and voiced their opinions, this was nothing more than a drug deal gone wrong, or on Rose's part—a set-up to rob me.

I changed then, on the inside and out. I lived in the gym, I stopped trusting, stopped helping at the center. I was only there in spirit. When no one was around, I helped Ez cook, clean, repair shit, and whatever else she needed. When I started working, I wrote a check every month, still do. But physically, only one hand is needed to count the number of times I've actually stepped foot in there or bothered to meet the girls staying there. I didn't need to, didn't want to.

Getting involved was the last thing I needed. And now look at me—as involved as one could get in just one day.

I had always felt guilty—carried that burden around that I was unable to help Rosalie or her sister. And now the chance had been handed to me on a silver platter and in one shot, like a coward, I failed. Again.

_Promise me when the time comes you'll help Isabella._

Guilt continues to consume me, and about an hour later, I reach for my phone to call Esme again. And again she doesn't answer. But as I'm about to text her—make sure she knows I'm calling in peace—my cell phone rings. It's Angela.

"Hello," I answer.

_"Hey. So I got your text. You have a conference call at one o'clock. Just wanted to remind you."_

"Thanks."

_"Yeah."_ There's a beat of silence. _"So, are you still going through your 'roid rage' ... or whatever that shit was last night?"  
_  
I sigh. "Are you trying to tell me I had no right to be upset and bothered?"  
_  
"You weren't just bothered. You were straight out furious. I haven't seen you so mad before. Well, that's not true ... but yeah."_

"If it makes you feel better—I do feel bad. Like shit actually."

_"I don't know that it makes me feel better per se. But, yeah, I'm glad to hear some remorse. Wanna tell me what that was about? I have my theories but I wanna know what you think. How are you feeling?"_

"Other than being pissed you're trying to psychoanalyze me?"

_"I'm not—"_

"We both know you are," I bite a little. "But it's fine. Whatever . . . umm, I was caught off guard. Scared how the situation might look and it came out as anger. I'd rather not over think it any more than that."

_"That's a fair enough assessment."_

"Thanks, Dr. Phil." I roll my eyes. "So, anyway . . . what are you up to, did you go into the office?"

"_No, I'm with Esme . . . we're . . . I'm helping her with something right now."_

"Why isn't she answering her phone? She mad at me?"

"_No, more like mad at herself. She feels really bad about last night—for both you and Bella."_

"If you talk to her, tell her not to be. I mean, she had no way of knowing Bella was going to . . . you know—_approach_ me the way she did, or that I was gonna react the way I did."

She sighs_. "I've tried."_

"That's all you can do," I say in comfort. "So . . ." I clear my throat. "How is she?"

"_Esme?"_

"No, Bella. She's not beating herself up too much is she? You should probably tell her I'm prone to overreactions." I expect a retort, a playful jab of some sort but it doesn't come. "Ang?"

"_Edward. Esme doesn't want me to say anything . . . she doesn't want you to feel bad. But you should know—we don't know where Bella is."_

* * *

**Hi! Remember, you guys love and trust me, yes? :-)**

**Me thinks I'll prob update the next chap sooner rather than later since it's already written and beta'd and I imagine some of you are flailing at the moment! No worries, she's fine and not too far ;-)**

**I love hearing from you! ****Thoughts?**

**Thanks for reading**

**~Lo**


	10. Chapter 10

**Yeah, the chapters are on the shorter side ... but that's what helps for more frequent updates. Ya dig? :-)**

**Hope to answer some more question's with this chap. And no worries. This early update doesn't take away from another one coming Saturday.**

* * *

**Chapter 10:**

"What?" I bellow into the phone. "What the hell do you mean Esme doesn't know where she is?"

"_Exactly what the fuck I said, Edward," _Angela snaps.

"They were _just_ here. She was just here, what happened?"

Thankfully—and surprisingly—she doesn't point out the contradictory nature of my reactions. Just last night, not even twelve hours ago, I wanted Bella as far away from me as possible. And now I find my heart racing and fear gripping me at the thought something might have happened.

"_When they left your house,"_ she begins slowly, _"__and got back to the center__**. **__All Esme said was she had asked Bella to wait for her in the car. I'm not sure what else she said. But when she came back outside, Bella was gone." _

"Okay, well where could she have gone then?"

"_We're not sure. From what Esme said—she doesn't know the area that well."_

My forehead creases in confusion. "How is that possible . . . not knowing the area well. Didn't she grow up here?"

"_Not really. I mean, I don't really know the story . . ."_

"Put Esme on the phone."

"_Edward, I don't think—"_

"Put her on the phone! Shit's just not making sense and I'm tired of it."

"_She's . . ."_ she begins to protest, but then sighs. _"__You know what? Hold on a second 'cause you're right." _I hear some rustling, as well as my sister griping in the background before she gets on the phone.

"_What!"_ Esme snaps. _"__I don't need your shit right now, Edward."_

"Too fucking bad," I argue back. "'Cause in the matter of what . . . three days, you've unleashed a smug bitch of a co-worker on me, dangled an already fragile girl in my face ... at _my_ office, tricked me into allowing her into my home—only to find out you lied and she's a _minor_. We all know how well that went, by the way. Now you don't know where she is. And let's be real—if anything happens, all of you, in your self-righteous glory, are gonna be looking at me like I'm the bad guy. So no, sorry, but you don't have much of a choice on whether or not you get to hear my _shit_ right now."

"_What do you want me to say? If I had told you—honestly—this poor girl showed up at the center three weeks ago, scared and beaten, that she was only seventeen, and damn near asked for you by name . . . would you have been willing to help?" _

"Huh?" What the fuck? "What do you mean she asked for me by name?"

"_She asked me if I knew someone named Neddie. Only one other person ever called you that." _

I gulp ... hard "What else—what else did she say?"

"_Not much. Well . . . not at first. She asked me if this was Neddie's house. I don't think she grasped it was an actual home for girls versus a place you lived on your own. She told me her sister had come here a long time ago. I figured out who she was right away."_

"How come you never told me?"

"_This isn't something that easily rolls off the tongue. I mean you've said it yourself—several times. She's seventeen. She's turning eighteen in a week or so, so technically she can stay here for another month."_

"Then why try and . . . why not let her stay?"

"_Besides there really not being much room?" _Her voice softens._ "__I didn't want her to get comfortable and then in a month _have _to send her away. In the few talks we've had, I honestly don't think she could handle something like that." _

I blow out a breath, letting myself fall back into my chair. "Ang?" I say, knowing she's listening to the whole conversation, and needing to focus back on the current issue at hand.

"_Yeah?"_

"What did Bella say last night when you talked to her?"

"_Nothing of great importance—"_ she sighs _"—__other than beating herself up for making you mad. So, no, I have no idea where she could have gone."_

"What about you, Ez? Anything from this morning?"

"_None. When we woke up and you weren't there, she got really nervous. I think she thought you left 'cause of her or something. Then, I mean I did the best I could at reassuring her. I told her you probably just left for work early or went to the gym, maybe even your 'thinking spot'."_ She let out a little chuckle at that, as did I. "_After she calmed down, she asked if she could make breakfast for you as an apology and a thank you. She wouldn't let me help, so I ran home and took a shower. Then I came back and got her and we left."_

"Ang said you said she doesn't know the area well?"

"_All she said was she vaguely remembers certain places because she moved away when she was little. After—" _She stops abruptly.

"What? Moved away when?"

"_After her sister got her friend Neddie in trouble, but she's never elaborated more than that. I don't think she needs to."_

I snort. Funny ... I had just been thinking about that earlier. "Yeah. So that means Rose did make it out that night at . . ." I jump up. Of course! "Esme! You and Ang be ready—I'm heading your way."

"_What? Why?"_

"I know where Bella is."

* * *

**So she's not in the house like some of you guessed. (Good guess though ;-)) But maybe she's at the park? Again, like some of you already guessed! You kinda rock, ya know!?**

**Thanks for reading... **

**Thoughts?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Saturday, my beauties! Can't even tell you how thankful I am for the continued response so far. I'm glad you keep coming back for more. Even when I answer some questions, only to create even more for you guys lol ... **

**Things are going slow right now (we gotta establish some things, yes?) but you can expect some jumps soon and from time to time. **

**Let's bring our girl home!**

**Beta'd by Bridgette ... pre-read by Miss January **

* * *

**Chapter 11:**

"Edward, where are we going?" Angela asks from the backseat of my car as Esme sits quietly in the passenger seat, clutching onto the door for dear life. When I reached the center I had barely slowed the car down in order for them to jump in and was pretty much tearing through the streets like a maniac.

I chuckle a little. I'm not sure how it comes out but I know there's no humor behind it. "Esme affectionately calls it my 'thinking spot'."

"Really?" Esme turns her head to look at me. "You think that's where she went?"

I shrug. "Maybe. Maybe not, but it's worth a shot." There's a chance I'm wrong—a very good chance, but it's the first thing that popped into my mind. From what Rose told me, when she first showed me the little area, her mom used to take her and her little sister there once upon a time. 'Before our life turned to hell' she had said. It was their little spot where they had picnics on Sunday mornings. They weren't overly religious, didn't go to church, but that was their ritual. She would dress her little girls up, bring them to that spot and have them thank God for their blessings, as little as they were. When they stopped having things to be thankful for, they stopped going.

"She might have moved and might not know or remember the area well, but we always keep good memories with us. Especially when we have nothing else to hold onto."

The car falls silent as we make our way to my 'spot'. When I pull up, I point out the direction I think she might be. "It's just a few feet that way. The car can make it but I don't wanna spook her."

"Aren't you coming?" Esme asks softly.

I shake my head. "No. I have no idea how what my presence might do. I don't want to aggravate the situation."

"You're coming." I turn in my seat to protest to Angela, but she raises a hand to silence me. "If she is here, _you're_ the one who found her. She needs to know that."

"Why?"

"Because she needs to know there is a man out there she can trust. And no matter how hard you seem to want to convince us otherwise . . . you care."

"Jesus," I mutter wryly, then look over at Esme. "She sure has a way with words doesn't she?"

"That's Angela for ya."

We both shake our heads and climb out of the car. Slowly we make our way to the little clearing. Right there in the middle, and sitting on a—very familiar looking—blanket, is Bella.

I slink back and nod for Esme to walk ahead of me. "One at a time," I whisper to them. "Don't sneak up on her."

She nods. "Bella?" she calls out softly.

Bella whirls around quickly, but her face doesn't show a look of shock. It's tired, defeated. Esme takes a step forward and in response, Bella jumps up and takes a step back. But then something dawns on her face and she looks down at her setup then back at me a little panicked.

I look down at my blanket, some of my utensils, groceries I know are mine 'cause of the brands, and I chuckle, loudly, when I notice a couple rolls of toilet paper peeking out from the side of her bag.

Bella flinches at my sudden outburst while Esme and Angela snap their heads in my direction. I cough into my hand to try and hide my laugh, but it doesn't work. "What?" I smile, part of it being from nerves but part of it a weird sense of admiration. "She took my toilet paper." I nod in the direction of her bag, but make sure my smile is in tact.

"I . . . I'm sor—"

"I'm not mad," I tell her firmly and give her a pointed look. "About anything." Then I smile. "Of all the things to be upset about, you taking toilet paper will never make the radar. It's actually kinda awesome to be honest. I would have never thought about that. You're a smart girl."

She ducks her head down, and I can see her lips form into a tight line. "No I'm not," she argues softly.

I open my mouth to . . . I don't know—disagree with her maybe? But Esme gently puts her hands on my arm and shakes her head discreetly. "So what were you making?" she addresses Bella.

Without looking up, Bella shrugs her shoulders. "Peanut butter sandwich."

I look back at the spread and see the bag of bread is open and a knife is sitting next to it. Shit, my sister's observant as hell.

"I'm starved—" Esme grins, walking over and plunking down on the blanket "—mind if I make one too?"

Bella's eyes open a little in surprise, but then she nods her head quickly and gives Esme a small smile. Then she looks back at me, her questioning eyes letting me know she's inviting me to join their picnic of sorts. Before I can answer the way I want to—which is to say no and suggest we leave—Angela grabs hold of my hand and pulls us both over to the blanket. I see Bella frown a little before she masks it quickly.

She plops down as well—closest to Esme—quickly slathering some peanut butter onto two slices of bread before stuffing a good portion of each in her mouth. By the time the bag of bread makes it way to Angela—not even thirty seconds later, and after I've passed—and back to Bella, she's polished off both slices of bread. I purse my lips.

It's bothersome to realize she spent however long it took her to create a small buffet of shit for me to eat, but as for her, she's gorging herself on peanut butter and bread like it's her last meal.

If the girls find it upsetting—they don't say anything about it.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Esme reminds us they have to get back to the center. Bella's head snaps up. "Yes, you too." She looks over at me then back at Esme. "I told you already—I'm not mad either. You're welcome there."

Silently, we collect all of her—my—things and make our way over to the car.

The ride back is silent and stilted as hell. No one knows what to say. What to ask. At least I don't. Angela and I sit in the front while Esme rides with Bella in the back. It's a short drive but it feels like it goes on forever. I think we all let out a collective breath when we pull into the driveway**. **

"Bella," I hear Esme say. "Go on inside, okay. I'll be right there."

She silently gets out of the car, but we all notice she doesn't go inside, choosing instead to sit on the steps and wait for Esme.

"Now what?" I ask. Thankfully, Esme knows what I'm asking.

"Now . . . I do everything I can to help her—just like I do with the other girls who walk through that door."

"And when the month is up?"

"I'll let her go. Just like I will with the other girls."

"That fucking sucks," Angela sighs.

I nod in agreement. "When the time comes, if she's in a better place—you know here . . ." I tap the side of my head. "You let her know she has a room at my place, if she wants it."

"Edward, you don't have to do that."

I stare out the window at Bella and watch as she curls her arms tightly around herself on the stoop as someone walks out. She looks so small. So alone. "Someone has to."

* * *

**First jump starts next chap.**

**Thoughts?**

******Thanks for reading!**

******Until Next time**

**~Lo**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, lovelies! Happy Saturday! **

**If you're hoping for a BPOV—you're not alone. My beta and pre-reader had asked for one by this point, and I know some of you are asking as well. BUT it's not going to happen anytime soon, my loves. We're just not there yet. Trust me, you don't want in her mind right now. Hopefully, eventually … but idk when.**

**By the by, thank you so much for your reviews and rec'ing! It's pretty embarrassing how loud I squeal when I'm tagged on twitter, FB etc. I just wanna make out with you all, really! :-D**

* * *

**Chapter 12:**

It's almost a month to the day when Esme calls me at work asking if I still 'mean it' about Bella being able to stay with me.

The first thing I ask is how she's doing, because my answer depends solely on how she responds. I don't need her to tell me Bella's done a complete turnaround—that would be unrealistic given the time frame—but what I won't deal with is a regression. "And I want the truth," I add. This time I need to be prepared. And as much as I want to help her, I don't want to offer up my house—again—if Bella needs to be somewhere more structured. For the past month it's been impossible not to think— worry—about her. Send silent prayers that she's getting better. At the same time, the one night—our . . . interaction has still left me feeling a little unsettled. Disturbed. If I agree for her to come, only for it to be the same result?

After Esme explains the main issues she's encountered over the month are Bella's silence and self-imposed isolation, she promises they've had talks at length about 'boundaries'.

_ "She went through her typical thirty days. She didn't have as much to work on because she wasn't addicted to drugs, doesn't have alcohol issues, or any mental illnesses," _she explains. _"More than anything, she's really withdrawn and that's not going to change overnight, if ever. "_

"I guess I understand that."

_"And just so you know, I'm only giving you this information because I am allowed to. As I'm assisting her in gaining residence with you, you have the right to know she won't be a liability where those factors are concerned." _

By her tone, I gather she must not be alone and needed to clarify—to whoever was listening—this wasn't 'let's call my brother and gossip' time.

After work I ask Angela to follow me to my house because as I expected, when I get there, Esme is waiting there with Bella. I smile because she looks much better—healthier. She's cut her hair, to a little past her shoulder versus where it hit at her waist before, so now it doesn't look as ratty.

She's still pretty skinny, but I can see she's put on a few pounds, and her skin isn't as pale and pasty.

"Hi," she offers quietly. And she obviously feels surer of herself to actually start a conversation.

That makes me smile wider. "Hello."

Without spoken thought, the four of us gather in my living room with Angela and Esme flanking my sides on the couch, Bella sitting in a chair across from us.

While the ladies have a pretty intense conversation about what's 'expected' of Bella, I sit listening intently. I didn't really think of a lot of things other than the usual request—that she stay the hell out of my room, but Esme and Angela aren't playing games. Esme informs her she expects her to get a job and work on her schooling. Angela sets down the law about her continuing with counseling on a regular basis.

"Edward and you can discuss the terms of rent and such when the time comes," Esme tells her gently but sternly. "The best things we can do for you now—is not molly coddle you. You know we're here if you need anything, but it's up to you to take control of your life."

After that, and similar to the first time around, we all sit down and have dinner together.

It's more comfortable and relaxed, but I don't see much of Bella after that.

A few weeks pass by with the same routine. When I wake up in the morning, there's food on the table, but no Bella. And when I come home from work, the same thing, food on the table—no Bella.

It's weird, in fact, and it leaves more unsettling feelings in my stomach. Though I know, and still stand by my desire for space, I don't like that it's seemed to equate with her being something akin to my maid or housekeeper.

"Have you heard of the saying 'you can't have it both ways?'"

I roll my eyes at Angela even though I knew coming to her about this would garner some sarcasm. "Of course, but it's not the same thing."

"How so?"

"Because I never _asked_ Bella to do those things."

"Are you saying you're not enjoying waking up and coming home to a cooked meal and clean house?"

I choose not to respond to that challenge because I'll either come out a liar or seemingly lazy. "I just don't want her to feel like she has to fill that role. It's . . ." I purse my lips ". . . weird."

"Why?"

Drumming my fingers on my desk, I try my best to think of why it's bothering me so much—I come up with nothing.

"Want me to tell you what I think?" I groan, but don't answer. I already know I don't have a choice. "Well, in my opinion …" I snort. "Hey! Do you want my advice or not?"

"Fine." I wave a hand for her to continue. I did ask after all.

"Simply put—you care about her." I bristle at the accusation only for Angela to scoff and roll her eyes. "And that's your problem. You think caring about her—for whatever reason—is wrong. But it's not. I care, Esme cares, and so do you. If you didn't, you wouldn't have offered your home the first time. You sure as hell wouldn't have this time either. And it wouldn't bother you so much that on the outside, it might look like you're only using her to keep house. I'll tell you now what I know Esme told you that one night." With a stern look she leans a little, almost bringing her top off over my desk. "No one will think those things of you. She came looking for you, Edward. You're the reason she found the center. If she needs anyone to reach out to her—it's you."

My forehead creases as I remember Esme's comment about her looking for 'Neddie' when she first showed up. "Does she know who I am yet?"

Angela shrugs. "I'm sure she's figured it out by now. Which only means she's probably dying to talk to you and be your friend."

I mull that over for the rest of the day and until I get home.

Bella looking for me can mean many things. But mostly, I wonder if it means she's looking for her sister and just hasn't found a way to ask for my help. I really hope that's not the case because that's the one thing I don't think I'd be able to give her.

When I get home and find the same scene—a clean house and dinner on the table—I decide to take Angela's advice and reach out to Bella. Shuffling my feet, I creep up the stairs and knock on her door tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Hey, it's me—Edward." I internally scowl at myself for the introduction. Who else would 'me' be?

There's a long span of silence before I hear the knob turning, followed by her opening the door. "Is everything okay with your dinner?"

Her innocent question makes me feel like an ass. "I'm sure it's fine, Bella." I reassure her. "I just wanted to say thank you and check if you ate?"

She nods slowly, giving me a look of confusion. "Is that okay?"

Christ. "Of course," I say quickly. "I was just checking is all … making sure that you ate. 'Cause you know I appreciate you cooking, but that's not … you don't … I'll manage without it you know?"

She nods again, but I can tell what I said has gone through one ear and out the other.

"Right, so anyway. Since you already ate, never mind, but you're welcome to come down and eat with me. You do make the food after all."

Her entire face beams at my invitation, but it's days before she actually makes her way down to sit at the table with me.

It's stilted and awkward, but it's a start.

* * *

**Baby steps!**

**Thanks for reading**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	13. Chapter 13

***waves* good morning! Seems like we all breathed a sigh of relief the last chap, huh? Good to know. :-)**

**I can't thank you enough for your continued response to this story! **

* * *

**Chapter 13:**

The little effort Bella made by actually coming downstairs to sit with me for dinner doesn't extend to much more progress over the next couple weeks.

She still comes down minutes after I've come home from work, but she sits at the table quietly. Head down. Not speaking. And if I look closely, at times, I can see her hands shaking.

I almost want to tell her never mind. That she doesn't _have_ to join me for dinner, but I resist. It's hard to imagine how nervous she might be—how nervous my presence alone makes her—so I always choose not to say anything during those times. Forced to walk around on eggshells in my own home.

It's not a comfortable or ideal situation for me, but oddly enough, it's something I do willingly. Something, I've convinced myself, that I owe her.

She hasn't said anything to me about Rosalie. Hasn't asked me questions, or I her. But there just seems to be an unspoken agreement that we know exactly who the other is. Especially after Esme helped her to get a duplicate birth certificate after a conversation where Bella said 'all she was able to get was her social' before it happened.

Whatever 'it' is.

I know my sister and Angela know about things that have happened to Bella. Angela—having went to school for psychology or something—volunteers at the center by giving the girls 'someone to talk to'. And Esme, well, being someone who doesn't know when to stay out of other people's business, knows everything about everyone. But for me, I've still been standing by wanting to live in ignorant bliss. I don't see what good knowing details of her past would do. I still don't want to know.

At work, it's business as usual. Things with Sam have long since calmed down, and Mike isn't on the outs with his wife. So it's little issues here and there and Angela giving me shit.

The most recent of things is nagging me about how she and Esme feel I really need to put myself back on the market and start dating again.

Esme, who I've barely spoken to in weeks.

I frown thinking of my sister and the fight we'd had. She'd called me at work—after not speaking to me for days—and started off asking me if I could do her a favor. Without hearing her out, I blew up on her. Telling her she didn't get to ask me for any more favors. That I wasn't available to help her out with anything anymore and the list went on. Of course I felt like shit when—through sobs and sniffles—she said she'd only wanted a ride to the doctor. I apologized, but we haven't spoken since. Really, it had just been a rough day. A day filled with stressful meetings, following a night of restless sleep and I'd taken it out on her. But in the same token—a part of me felt justified. I think it's safe to say—though I've had a bit of a change of heart—I haven't completely forgiven her for the situation she put me and Bella in. Or rather the _way_ she put us in the situation.

As her brother, she knew she could trust me—but Christ. Sometimes you don't even know you're family. I'm sure all those families of serial killers didn't know what was going on. Yes, my being a serial killer in the situation is a stretch. But the point is, she assumed I was a good guy—what if I wasn't? How would she have explained that to Bella then?

What if she had put her in a situation where she was hurt again?

How would she have come back from that?

It's hard to pinpoint what I'm the most upset about. But either way, I've been keeping my distance. She knows me well enough that she's been giving me space as well. But she's still my sister, and a part of me feels bad I haven't spoken to her or even know how the baby is.

With that thought, I tell myself I should—at the very least—try and reach out to Carlisle one of these days. Let him know I'm here if they need anything.

"I can't figure out if you're mad or sad right now."

Swirling my chair to face the front door of my office completely, I give Angela a small smile. "Both."

"Ah." She nods. "Newton?"

"I almost wish."

"Must be bad then. Wanna talk?" I shake my head slowly. I don't want to talk. Not to her, not to anybody. Not today, tomorrow, or next week. "Okay," she says, shrugging—her voice attempting to sound flippant even though I can tell she's worried about something. Probably me. "I actually came in here to talk to you. I have this friend, right ..."

Here we go.

My hand flies up at the same time my head thumps down to my desk. "Please don't," I groan. "You have even worst taste in people than I do. Really, you're the last person who should be playing Cupid."

"Hey!" I glance up to see her looking affronted. "I did date you, you know. So are you lumping yourself with my bad taste?"

I shudder at the memories. That was five years ago and a few months neither of us will ever get back. We were always meant to be friends and just kissing each other—all we'd ever done—felt like what I imagined kissing an old relative on the mouth would. I shudder again. "Yes."

"Okay." I notice her shiver a little, too. "That was a bad example."

"And Tyler—don't forget."

"I. Do. Not. Like. Tyler."

I smile at her reaction. "Of course you don't." When I see her shuffle her feet and start fidgeting at her shirt, my smile gets impossibly wider. "But you do like someone?"

"What? No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me or you're fired."

She hesitates. "You can't fire me for not telling you who I like."

"Aha!" I point at her in victory. "So I'm right?"

"Yes, and obviously you're also ten years old."

I mock frown. "Friends don't keep secrets, Angela."

"Okay." Her arms cross over her chest, her shoulders square, and her eyes focus in on me. "How come you didn't tell me you haven't been sleeping well?"

That escalated quickly.

"I've been sleeping just fine." I adjust my tie, swirling my chair again this time to face my computer. I sure as hell didn't expect the conversation to take that turn.

"I know your tells. Not to mention you have bags under your eyes. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Esme told me you guys haven't been talking."

"Glad to know you guys gossip about me."

"It isn't gossiping. I'm her friend, too. We talk."

I continue staring at the screen. "I'm not stressed about my sister. I know she's fine."

"Then who or what are you stressing about?" I shrug one side of my shoulder. I don't want to talk, but Angela has a way of getting it out of me and making me spill my guts without even trying. "You haven't had trouble sleeping in a while. When did this all start again?"

That's easy to pinpoint. "When Bella moved in."

I look over quickly to gauge her reaction and it's just in time to see her eyebrows lift, and her mouth fall open into the shape of an 'O'. She says nothing but she doesn't have to, because Angela and I are frequently on the same wavelength. Sooner or later, Bella and I are really going to have to stop skirting around each other and have a talk.

* * *

**And they will - talk that is - but when that time comes I can tell you it won't be all that pretty. Idk why that's just how things played out. **

**I hope, also, this clarified some of the questions about Edward and Angela? **

***nervous***

**So, what did you think? :-)**

**Thanks again for reading!**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**

* * *

**By the by - I wanted to rec a few O/S - I lurve them and I hope you'll check them out if you haven't aready! **

*** ****Shot In The Dark - by: Misswinkles.  
Summary: **Love isn't blind - it has something in its eye. Romance/Humor

***********Learning to Live - by: Ileftmyscar.  
Summary: **An online friend, a support, a reason to go on. Emails that serve as a lifeline for two people who have known each other most intimately, just through words.

*******Love By Numbers- by: lellabeth  
Summary: **Accountant Edward has been obsessing over his boss Bella since she first started working at the company, but he's convinced she isn't interested in him as anything other than a friend. Can a phone call change his mind?


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello, My lovelies! :-)**

**Sooo … I think some of us need to have a little chat! Real talk now ya'll! I get it—oh do I get it—that things aren't going the way some people hoped for, yet. BUT I gave fair warning this was gonna be a slow burn, right? Maybe it's on me that I didn't clarify this was in regards to not just the romantic side of things, but the story's (meaning Edward's) progress. He has his own demons to deal with, too. Some of you hate him—I'm cool with that—but he is who he is. So is Esme. So is Angela. And when Bella comes into her own and some of you might be wondering where her bitchy attitude came from—she's who she is, too! Don't get my words twisted—I take your thoughts to heart—you have no idea how much I appreciate you sharing them with me. Though some really need to think before they speak, but whatever. I gotta take the good with the bad. I think I do a pretty good job with that. But I WON'T change the plot of the story or someone's character. I can't. I just write it, the characters pull the strings. ;-)**

*******drops mic***

**I should also mention Bella's only been in the house about 2 months now. To avoid any confusion with the time jumps I'll start breaking down what month we're in.**

**Now, back to our regularly scheduled program! I think—hope—you guys are gonna like this chapter … and you have Bridgette to thank 'cause she sent this sucker back like, "Nah, girl… I need a little more of these two." I'm paraphrasing, but you get it! :-D With that, I changed some things so if mistakes make ya cringe blame moi! **

* * *

***NOVEMBER***

**Chapter 14:**

_When the time comes help Isabella._

_Help Isabella._

_Isabella._

_BANG!_

I jump up from yet another nightmare and scrub my hands over my face.

They've increased in frequency over the past few weeks and change every so often.

Sometimes, I see Rosalie.

Sometimes it's a blurry figure of one of the men that attacked me.

Sometimes it's even Bella with a sinister smile on her face.

"Fuck." I run my hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Nightmares don't really scare me. I've learned they're your subconscious trying to tell you something. So the fact I've been losing sleep and not able to figure them out, annoys me most.

Feeling thirsty, I take the steps downstairs—shocked when I find Bella sitting on the couch and staring stoically out the window.

I purse my lips not knowing what to say. For the past few weeks, she's been pretty good at staying out of my way. Or hiding—which is what it's ended up feeling like. She's completely abandoned the habit of actually joining me for dinner, and we don't say much to each other, besides my thank you's and constant reminders that she doesn't _have_ to cook and clean.

"Umm … hi," I say quietly, not wanting to alarm her. She gasps and turns to look at me, hand flying to her chest. Well, there goes that. "I'm just—" I thumb over my shoulder toward the kitchen "—getting a drink."

She nods slowly, showing me she heard me despite my whisper, but her eyes don't leave my chest. My bare chest, because I didn't think to put a shirt on when I came down for a drink.

Whatever. I'm too tired and a little cranky from my dreams to bother going all the way back to my room to put one on and then back to get a drink.

With a soft huff, I make my way to the kitchen and pour myself some water.

"Would you like coffee?"

I let out a little yelp and turn around to look at Bella. Oh, with the stealth. "Bella, please don't just sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry." She frowns, even though I can see the corner of her lips shaking at the force of trying to fight a smile. It almost catches me off guard, my own lips wanting to curve into one, too.

Looking over at the clock, I see it's well past two in the morning and turn back to Bella with a raised eyebrow. "You're drinking coffee?"

Her frown deepens. "Yeah, you said I could."

"No … I mean, yeah, you can. You can do whatever you want, Bella." I sigh. "I just mean why are you drinking coffee at this time of night?"

"It keeps me up," she says, her voice shaky.

Well … yeah, that's the point of coffee after all. "Why would you want to stay awake? Don't most people drink tea at night or warm milk or something when they can't sleep?"

Shrugging, she walks over to the pot and pours some of the dark liquid into her cup. I try to control my shock of how much she's talking. It seems the most she's ever said to me all at once. "Nighttime … I don't really like nighttime sometimes," she whispers.

"Why not?"

"Because I have nightmares sometimes, too."

_Too._

I stare at the back of her head, willing her to say more, but she doesn't. It's clear though I haven't been quiet in my nightly struggles with sleep.

In a moment of solidarity—of what I don't know—I reach around and grab a coffee mug of my own. And doing my best to ignore the minute shaking of her body, I reach my cup out towards her. "Coffee sounds great."

xXx

"You still haven't been sleeping, have you?"

With my head down on my desk, I shrug my shoulders at Angela. "What gave it away? The fact I asked you to hold my calls for fifteen minutes so I can rest my eyes, or ..."

"Actually, it was the extra level of smartass you've been radiating."

Another shrug. "What do you want?"

"Have you talked to Bella?"

I ignore her, assuming there's more to the question or that she's just being annoying for the sake of it, but when she repeats the same question again, I almost lose it. "Angela, are you serious?" I snap my head up. "She lives in my house. Of course I've talked to her."

"Yes, but have you talked? Like spoken to each other, about ..."

"About what? Life? Her sister? Yeah, actually just last night we stayed up watching movies together, reminiscing about the good old days."

With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, she nods. "Okay, maybe I walked into that one."

I roll my eyes and drop my head back down on my desk. No need to quantify that one with an answer.

"So ..."

"Yeah?"

"You know how you haven't talked to Esme?"

"Yes, I'm aware of the fact I haven't spoken to my sister."

I hear her inhale a long, annoyed breath and find myself smiling at this. That's what she gets for disrupting my almost nap.

"Anyway. Bella's been a little … different toward her at the center and I was wondering if you knew anything about why?"

Now I'm intrigued.

"Why has Bella been at the center?"

"She helps out there," she answers me slowly, the way people do when they address small children. "Esme gave her a job helping in the daycare."

"I take it I'm supposed to have known that?"

"Well … yeah. Anyway, do you know why? Why she's been cold to Esme ... is it 'cause _you're_ mad at her, maybe?"

"Let me clarify something." I finally sit up, my face hard and voice serious. "I'm not mad at my sister." Even if I was I don't see why Bella would take that on herself. "I've just chosen not to speak to her at the moment because I don't need her asking me for anymore favors."

"I think she knows she's favored out."

"Does she? Are you sure about that?"

"Okay, well in any case," she says quickly, a tone I recognize as her wanting to change the subject. "Esme brought it up and I was just wondering if you guys are going over there for dinner next week."

Ah, it is that time of the year isn't it?

"And she sent you to ask me?"

She shrugs.

"I'll go." I place a hand on my chest. "That's a given. But why would Bella want to go to Esme's for Thanksgiving if she's done something to upset her?"

Even with my somewhat brusque answer and demeanor about this new information, I can't deny a part of me is curious about whatever is going on with Bella and my sister. She seemed to lean on her so much in the beginning. So had I paid attention, I would realize how strange it is Ez hasn't even come around much.

Feeling exhausted and easily agitated, I skip out of work a little earlier than normal. When I get home, I find Bella in the kitchen cooking.

I open my mouth to, again, tell her she doesn't have to worry about it, but the look I remember she gave me the other day—like I was taking something away from her—stops me. So, I say, "Smells great."

From feet away, I see her shoulders tense for a split second before she turns her head to the side and offers me a soft smile. Something's off about it though, and I notice her face is splotchy and her eyes are red—like she's been crying or something.

"Um ..." I scratch at the back of my neck. "You alright?"

She sniffles but nods, returning her attention to the stove as I continue standing there awkwardly. I decide I might as well jump right in and ask her about what Angela said.

"Bella, I have to ask you something."

Without a verbal answer, she cranes her neck around to look at me again.

"Angela mentioned to me you and Esme are on the outs. I was wondering, hoping you'd wanna tell me about it."

This is a long shot, I know. It's not like we've ever had in depth talks, but my curiosity is nagging at me. I'm also hoping whatever pushed her to be able to talk to me last night hasn't wavered.

After a moment of surprise flashes behind her eyes, Bella's face hardens. "I don't like her."

"Why not?"

"She's like Charlie."

I shake my head slowly, letting her know I don't know who she's talking about.

"My step-father."

"Oh."

"She's just like him. She smiles. She acts nice. But really it's just to make you do what she wants. Things you don't want to do. She does that to you. And I don't like it."

The venom in her voice is so palpable it almost knocks me off my feet, and her words sting at me for my sister. But I have no idea what to say in her defense. I don't even know what Bella's talking about. "What happened?"

She flinches at my demanding tone, hands balling into fists, but she continues. "She's a bully." The harshness subsides as her voice starts to shake. "I—I know you don't want me here." It's a hard thing to rebuke, but also hard to agree with. I didn't want her here at first, she's right. But … "I should go," her voice cracks. On instinct, I take a step toward her but stop when she takes a step back. It's impossible to hide my frown. "I know I should leave. I know I shouldn't be here at all—that Miss Esme _lied _... and … and I'll go. I will if you—"

"Don't go," I blurt out, causing her to jump. "You can stay." I soften my voice.

"Really?" Her voice is small as tears well at her eyes again. It makes me wonder if that had something to do with the reason she was crying when I walked in. Or if it's 'cause she was thinking about her asshole of a step-father. I've prayed the things I know about Rose weren't carried over to Bella, but every time I think about it ... I shake my head. I can't think about this right now. So I focus back on Bella.

"Yeah." I nod. It's slow, calculating. I don't know what I'm offering her, exactly what I'm getting myself into. But I know I can't just send her out there with nowhere to go. She's not speaking to Esme. I don't even know if she has friends now from working at the center. I realize in my not wanting to know the details about her past, I've pretty much shut off knowing anything about her present. I'll worry about that later, I decide. But first … "You have to do something for me first."

Panic and disappointment flashes across her face and my heart cracks. My stomach churns. Tears almost well at my eyes for her.

"That." I point softly in her direction. "That has to stop." I know it's easier said than done. I know she may never be comfortable around me. And I might not even deserve what I'm about to ask her. But I can't keep walking around my house scared that everything I say or do might upset her. I can't have her hiding in her room from fear of … whatever. Upsetting me. Getting in my way. Or worse. Something has to change. In me. In her. In us. "You have to try and trust me. You have to know I don't and won't _ever _expect _anything_ from you."

It breaks my heart when I see the look in her eyes. It's unsure. But still hopeful. Bypassing everything I just said about trust, she says, "I can stay?"

I nod again. "For as long as you need to."

* * *

***Yay!—I know a few were worried (wondering) when or if Edward might ask her to leave again or something. NEEEVVVVEEERRR!**

**So … I'll be on vaca starting next week for a good few weeks. So if I don't get to update—that's why. ; -) But the next chap is ready so as long as I can get a minute to steal some wi-fi I'll post it!**

**In the meantime, I wanna rec another fic :-)**

**The Man in the Moon by: CullensTwiMistress **

**Summary: **Her Nana had always told her she'd find the peanut butter to her jelly. But she never did find the one, and now she's 29 and still looking for that perfect one—the man that doesn't exist. He's like the man in the moon; a simple fairy tale that will never be real.

**(If you know Missy you know she's one of the best sweetward h00r's evvvvaaaa ... so check it out, you won't be disappointed)**

**Thank you all for reading!**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	15. Chapter 15

******And we're back! *waves* :-D**

******I know it's been a minute but I don't intend that to happen again soon because 1.) I don't plan on taking any more extended vaca's this summer Lol and 2.) the next several chaps are written, beta'd and ready to update! The chapter I'd originally planned to update next pulled a New Moonward and it was as if it never existed. Really, I searched my thumb drive and laptop and it's still an unsolved mystery! I'll probably figure out where and what I saved it under long after this is complete. ********Smh.**

**Now, I'm not making a promise it will NEVER happen again — waiting for an update, I mean — just that I'll try my best. Some people are masters at balancing fic writing and RL. I'm not always one of those people. ****Most of you are understanding, but the people who get mad? Well, you're just going to have to STAY mad *shrugs* I won't apologize to the nasties ... **When too much is going on and something has to take a hit, it's fanfic not my family that gets pushed to the side. If you can't understand that, I don't know what to tell you.

******Anyway, big thanks as usual to AJasper For Me and to all of you who are reading still! :-) **

******Some new and old characters make an appearance! **

* * *

_It breaks my heart when I see the look in her eyes. It's unsure. But still hopeful. Bypassing everything I just said about trust, she says, "I can stay?"_

_I nod again. "For as long as you need to."_

**Chapter 15:**

I don't know what it is about what I said, or if it even has anything to do with that, but over the next week, I start seeing more of Bella around the house. She still doesn't go out of her way to speak to me—we really don't go out of our way to speak to _each other_, actually—but she does speak here and there and doesn't look like she wants to take flight at the sight of me either.

Dare I say, she almost looks … comfortable.

As for the dinner at Esme's, I hadn't known how to actually broach the subject. I knew regardless of what was going on with us, I wouldn't miss it. My mother would probably rise from the dead just to smack me upside the head if I tried, but I didn't know what to say to Bella about it. I didn't want her to feel like she had to go, but I didn't want to just be all, 'I'm going. Do what you want.', resulting in her staying home alone on a holiday. I was thankful when a couple days ago the conversation just happened.

At the center they'd been running various canned food drives, and Angela had picked Bella up so they could go help out. Later that day, Bella had come home and asked if we were going to my sister's house for Thanksgiving. Something came over me then, and I was getting ready to rip into Angela pretty hard until she swore up and down she had simply mentioned it in passing and wasn't making it seem like Bella had to go.

Yeah, well, it better had gone that way.

So now I'm in my room fidgeting with a tie and doing my best to ignore the grumbling in my stomach in response to whatever Bella's preparing in the kitchen. She's been cooking stuff all morning for us to bring over, and even though she's been trying to act guarded and uninterested, I can tell she's excited. It's good at least one of us is, because I keep feeling like I might hurl every time I think about it.

I don't know why I'm so nervous getting ready for dinner at my sister's house, I just am. I mean it's just dinner. We've had decades of Thanksgivings together. Maybe it's because the two women in my life are at odds with each other and that makes me nervous. I guess I can kind of relate now to when Esme was trying to force Carlisle on me so much.

Wait, I mean—not _the_ two women. Not like that. Just two women—Esme and Bella; Esme who's my sister and Bella who's ... umm ... who's—

"Edward?"

I stiffen then turn around slowly to face Bella who's standing in the hallway almost a cool foot away from my actual door. She looks a little different in a dark blue, knee-length dress, hair done up and I even detect what I think is make-up.

When she catches me looking at her, she fidgets with the hem of the dress. "It's Angela's. When I heard you guys talking about dinner, I told her I—I didn't have anything pretty to wear."

"It's pretty on you." I offer the compliment quickly, quietly, honestly. Sometimes it's hard not to notice how pretty she's become—becoming with every day that passes. But I always feel … _wrong_ about noticing it. But tonight is the first time she's had to dress up since she's gotten here and by the unsure look on her face—and many of experience growing up with Esme—I knew she needed to hear it.

"Thanks, Edward. You look—"

"Ready to go?" I see her flinch at my cutting her off, but she nods anyway. "And don't forget to put on a jacket, please."

The ride to my sister's is quiet, as I drive slowly to not jostle the platter sitting on Bella's lap and the one in the back seat. As I focus on the road, I try not to pay attention to her and her nervousness radiating from the passenger seat.

Since the whole 'bully' comment, she never elaborated about what exactly happened between them and I was too focused on making sure she was okay and knew she was welcome at my house that I didn't bother trying to rehash it. I hope it doesn't get rehashed tonight.

When we arrive, the driveway and street is overflowing with cars and with a sharp intake of air, Bella snaps her head in my direction. Even _I _get a little nervous sometimes when having to face too many people at once, so I try to offer her an encouraging smile.

"Thanksgiving's a big deal." I keep my voice light, teasing. "Esme pretty much opens up her house to anyone and everyone who doesn't have set plans. But, I don't think all these cars are for us. We're not that popular."

I feel victorious when I hear her soft giggle.

After taking two platters of whatever Bella made in my hand, I walk around to hold the door open for her to climb out of the car.

"Thanks." She ducks her head, but I see her cheeks move in a smile. That makes me smile, too. But when she looks back up then back at the house and me, the smile is gone and her eyes are hard.

"Ready?"

With a terse nod, she crosses her arms over her chest and marches ahead of me to the door.

Long before we can ring the bell, it swings open with a wide smiling Esme behind it.

"Hi, guys."

I bend down, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hey."

"Yeah, hi." Bella sniffs, jutting her chin out and walking into the house.

I can tell her reaction hurts Esme's feelings, but inside I smile.

It's odd because I shouldn't be supportive of her being rude to my sister, but I get it.

It's not about being rude.

It's not about being ungrateful.

It's defiance.

In Bella's way, it's her taking control.

And really … it's about damn time.

After I run back to the car to get the other platter, the three of us stand in the open doorway for a few awkward seconds before the chatter coming from inside snaps us out of it.

"Dinner's almost ready. Bella, did you want to help me in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, whatever."

I bite back another laugh. "Do you need my help, sis?" She shakes her head, but when her hand instinctively rests on her stomach—the stomach that's grown enormously since I last saw her—I know she's tired. "I don't mind."

"We have plenty of help, don't worry."

Knowing I'm not going to win the argument, I shrug, give her another kiss on the cheek and make my way further into the house.

I meet and greet a few people—barely offering Victoria a cursory head nod in greeting. She seems to beam at Bella, but I notice her eyes narrow at her standing by my side before she makes her way into the kitchen.

I don't think much of it. Really, I couldn't care less. We clearly don't like each other and that's not going to change tonight.

Continuing further into the living room area, I stop short, excited, and confused when I see a tuff of blond hair I hadn't seen in a long time.

"Jasper?"

"In the flesh." He widens his arms, his mouth forming into a cheeky grin.

I don't think before walking up to him and pulling him into a rough hug.

Before Angela, before Whitney, before it all, Jasper Whitlock was one of my best friends. His life has been, in one word, rough. But my mother adored him, and after staying with us for a little while when we were younger, he was one of the people I knew I could call whenever I needed anything. I never called—not to _ask_ for stuff. Except when I couldn't find a job, once upon a time, but I knew if I did need anything, he wouldn't hesitate. Over the years we've made sure to exchange phone calls here and there, but this man doesn't sit in one place. He's always working, always traveling, always doing … something. I guess that's how it goes though, when you help run a corporation as big as Whitlock Investments. I should know, after all.

"What are you doing here, man?"

"Got some things to take care of at work." At his pointed look, I frown, having no clue what's going on at work. But he waves me off, conveying that we'll talk about it later.

With some drinks in hand, I watch and salivate as people flitter in and out of the kitchen setting the table. And I try, I really do try and keep up conversations, but I'm too hungry to focus.

Again, I decide I'm going to head over and offer Esme some help—you know to move things along a bit—but everything comes to a halt when I see Whitney.

We both take a moment to assess the other, the way only two people who used to be together could. She's the same height, taller than average at about 5'9" with the same long blonde hair. I'll admit, a part of me waits for the split second epiphany where I decide I've missed her and wish we were still together, but it doesn't come. Her hand lifts up in an awkward wave, snapping me out of it, and I wave back just in time for Esme to pass me.

My same hand that is in the air mid-wave, clamps down on her shoulder. "A word, please." I grit it out through my teeth, making it clear she has no choice as we make our way toward the front of the house.

Back by the doorway, I take a few calming breaths before addressing her.

"What is Whit doing here?"

"Edward, she's my friend. She gets to be here, too. It's not like she has a lot of family either. What's the big deal?"

"The bid deal is she's my ex and you know how it gets when we're around each other."

"Well, before she was your ex, she was one of my best friends. You broke up with her—which is fine, whatever, you had your reasons. But that doesn't mean I have to cut her off, too."

"Babe?" We both look up at Carlisle—who by the way is glaring at me. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is fine." Esme answers him, but then looks back at me. "Right?"

Even though I don't want to, I nod. Everything is not fine, but for the sake of keeping peace—I can pretend.

* * *

**Before we light the pitchforks, I just want to make it clear that in this instance, Esme actually wasn't meddling by inviting her. Just in case you might be wondering! **

**Sooooooooo ... what did you think?**

**Leave me your thoughts, loves!**

**Until Next time (ahem Saturday ;-))**

**~Lo**


	16. Chapter 16

**Some mixed reactions to last chap ... didn't expect some of them, but as usual thank you so much for taking time to share your thoughts with me. **

**I'd posted a teaser for this a while back and THANK GOD for that because it was originally part of the missing chapter. :-) I'm glad I was able to go back and remember where the hell I'd been going with things before. HA! **

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

After dinner those of us who stayed to help clean up, and have another round of food, find purchase at different spots around the house.

Tired, I rest on the recliner, taking in everyone around me. I know Esme, Angela and Whit are in the kitchen. Jasper's snoring on the loveseat. A few feet away, I see Bella sitting next to this kid Alistair—who I think is Carlisle's cousin's son or something. I don't remember the lineage, or ever meeting him, but he looks almost identical to Carlisle with the blonde hair and blue eyes that seem to run in the family. Except his is long and shaggy, almost to his shoulders. He's young, his eyes are shifty, and I'm not blind to the way he shamelessly checked Bella out throughout dinner.

So I watch them as she sits next to him on the couch, her eyes focused on the TV screen. I continue paying attention when he hands her the game remote with a soft, flirty smile. Punk, I know that smile—I invented that smile when I was younger. Bella shakes her head and giggles only for him to thrust it into her hands. He leans over to say something—it makes her laugh and I fight against my own smile and scowl. The scowl of course is at him, and because I know he's probably having dozens of untoward thoughts. Well, she's not that kind of girl and I'd break his arm before I let him touch her.

The smile, though, is for Bella's pretty laugh.

_Umm . . ._

"Edward?" My head snaps up and my scowl deepens at Whitney. She's looking at me, but I see her eyes move back and forth between Bella and Alistair as well. "Can we talk?"

Marveling at how quickly everyone seems to disappear when I need an excuse as to why I can't—and don't want to—have this talk right now, I let out a long breath and agree.

When we walk into the kitchen, I lean against the counter, keeping my head down and gaze away from her.

"So, I just wanted to talk to you because the last time we spoke it didn't go well."

I snort. "The last time we spoke you hung up on me then tried to … whatever you tried to do by sending me a video of you fingering yourself." When I look up, I see her face scrunched up in embarrassment. Good, because that move was so beneath her and I tell her as such.

"I'm obviously not proud of it. I was trying to get your attention because I missed you so much. Then you called, only to shut me down even more. Don't you think that fucked with my head?"

At her agitated voice, I sigh, tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling. "Whit, if you knew what the past few week—_months_—have been like for me. Really, I'm in no state of mind to talk or fight with you about this."

"Oh, I know. Esme told me what you did for her, and for that girl—_Bella_." My eyes narrow. I know Whitney. I know something's up and I most certainly don't like the way she said Bella's name. "Edward, you're nice—you always have been. But let me tell you, you're nice to a fault. As sweet as it may be, don't you think taking in a girl like that, with those kind of issues, is all a little bit too much for you? I mean—"

"What do you guys do, sit around gossiping about me? I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, trust me when I tell you, it's none of your business. On another note," I add, voice low and threatening. "I think I'd rather you not discuss Bella."

"I'm just worried."

"Well, don't be."

"Edward," she calls out when I take a step to walk away.

Turning around, I glare at her harder. "What?"

"Don't fall for her."

What the fuck?

"What did you just say?"

"Bella. Don't fall for her."

"Whitney—"

"This isn't just ex-girlfriend talk. This is friend talk. It won't be pretty if you break her heart like you did mine." I scoff, but for some reason her words keep me in place. "I don't know what's going on, but if you ever looked at me the way you were looking at her before, on the couch, we'd probably still be together."

"You're right—you _don't_ know what's going on, and you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I do. Edward, she's a broken little girl who needs professional help, or the help of parents and family. Not you. You have your own past issues you still deal with. And I know you. Don't forget that. I know you better than anyone else in the room. More than Esme does. You want to help, which is admirable even though you probably fought against it at first. Shit, you've probably been a dick to her, or are going to be. Whatever. But this isn't going to end well. She'll get attached, and so will you. Then what?"

"Are you ready to go?" I look over and my eyebrows furrow at Bella standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She yawns, but I can tell it's fake. Her mouth moves, but Bella's true tired yawns last a long time and her entire face pinches together. Her eyes water and even her shoulders lift up. At the end of the yawn, she always lets out a tired noise … and why the fuck have I been paying that much attention? "I'm really tired." She pouts, walking over to me. To add on to her horrible acting job, she startles when she sees Whitney and leans against me. "Oh, hi. I'm Bella."

"Yeah." Whitney huffs. "I know who you are. Remember what I said, Edward."

When she walks away, I suddenly find myself livid realizing what just happened.

"Bella, why ... what _was _that?"

"I—I was ... I just wanted to help. She was being mean to you."

"Yeah, but now it's going to seem like there's something going on with us. That's the last thing I need people to think. Next time you want to help like that—don't."

Her bottom lips trembles, but she doesn't respond. With a terse nod and a glare, she walks away, ignoring me as I try to call out to her in apology.

Don't ask me what just got into me. Or her. Because even I don't know.

* * *

After Thanksgiving everything changes between me and Bella.

And trust me when I say it's for the worse.

First and foremost, we seem to come to a silent agreement to stay the hell away from each other. So it's like when she first moved in, only worse, because now I hide in my room as well. So really, I don't know what she does but I keep my distance.

What kills me is that she _does_ talk—all the time. Whether it's on the phone, when Angela comes over, and on a random weekend when we went to Esme's for dinner, it was like she couldn't shut up. But actual conversation with me ... nothing.

For the most part, I had been dealing with our mutual silent treatment just fine, I guess. But when I came home a few days ago and found an envelope on the kitchen table with cash inside and a note from Bella discussing what she should pay for rent, I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

In theory, I don't have a complete issue with Bella paying rent—or thinking she's paying rent, since I haven't done anything with the money other than putting it aside for her. I mean, I do understand the importance of her getting used to the routine for when she eventually moves out on her own, but what hurt was that I knew what that step signified. Boundaries had been established—Bella and I weren't friends.

And as much as I know I shouldn't be affected by it, the realization shot a pang of something unfamiliar inside me I couldn't tamp down.

* * *

**On the surface, it might seem like they just pulled a one step forward and two steps back thing, but that's not the case ;-) Some were a little ... Meh about Bella, but she's trying to find her way. **

**Thoughts, I need your thoughts! **

**Thanks for reading!**

**~Lo**


	17. Chapter 17

**How about an early update?! :-)**

**A/N: Quick clarification. The end of Chapter 16 is a quick run through of how he see's things the weeks following Thanksgiving... How HE see things, not everyone else. So there's a little jump this chapter, but not really because we know things with E/B have been strained. According to him. Make sense?**

**Thanks for reading! **

**Kisses to AJasper ForMe :-)**

* * *

**DECEMBER**

**Chapter 17:**

"Five more and we're done."

Straining and pushing myself the best I can, I push the weights up and over my head five more times—like instructed—before throwing them by Emmett's feet with a loud thud.

"Since your headspace is clearly fucked right now," Emmett says, bending down to get them, "I'll ignore that. But drop my weights like that one more time …" He doesn't finish his threat as he places the weights back on their stand. "I'll see you tomorrow. Same time. And leave that asshole attitude at home."

I open my mouth to defend myself, wanting nothing more than to tell him _he's_ the one who's been an ass all morning, but I decide against it.

However, it seems like everyone around me shares his sentiment and I'm just an asshole all around because when I get to work, Angela and I get into a fight. Mike sends me a nasty email about God knows what. And by lunchtime, Jasper—who's been around fixing a few messes since Thanksgiving—tells me if I need to take a few days off all I have to do is say the word.

"I'm fine."

"No, actually you're not. And you haven't been for a while now."

Sighing, I throw my pen down on my desk and face him. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing." He shrugs, inviting himself to take a seat. "If I ask, I know you won't tell me what's wrong anyway. So I'll save myself the time."

With Jasper, when he says stuff like this, it's not reverse psychology—he means it. So a few minutes later, the polite offer to take a few days off if needed changes into a demand that I go home for the rest of the day.

But I don't go home. I head back to the gym, knowing it's one of the only places that's given me unbridled space and time to clear my head these days.

When I get there, Emmett sits up quickly from one of the workout benches and stops me before I can make it to the locker room to change. "I don't think so, man. Not today."

"What?"

"You were just here this morning. If you keep going like you've been, you'll strain something for sure."

"So you're telling me you're gonna try and stop me from working out in a public gym?"

"No, I'm telling you you'll strain something. Like I said."

"So I'll take it easy."

"No." He nods his head to the door. "What you'll do is take a walk. Let's go." I oblige with a sigh, setting my bag down at the bench that sits by the front door. "Keep an eye on this for him," Emmett calls to the girl sitting behind the desk and she nods with a polite smile. He doesn't even wait until we're fully outside to start drilling me. "While you're not always shits and giggles—you're hardly ever an asshole to me either."

"Your point?"

"My point, dickhead, is that I'm trying to be your friend right now and figure out what's got this chip on your shoulder all the sudden. You wanna go back inside and work it off—" he thumbs over his shoulder "—then let's go. I'll ride your ass so hard you'll hate life for the rest of the week. But if you wanna talk, I'm good for that shit, too."

"Emmett, man, I don't even know." I run a hand through my hair, curling my fingers in my scalp a few times. "I just got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Yeah, well who doesn't?" He laughs. "Let me guess, it's about a chick."

I cringe. Yes, I'm worried about Bella and the way things have been going, but ... "She's not a chick."

The expression on his face shows me he gets it. Good for him because I don't. "Ah, okay. Is it Angela?"

"Nah, her name is—whoa, whoa, what?"

"Oh, uh ..."

"Angela Weber? My Angela?"

"Yeah. About that." His face gets serious, then nervous. I can tell he has questions and it dawns on me that he's so right.

Who _doesn't_ have a lot on their mind?

Over the next hour, Emmett and I chill on the bench outside talking. I comfort him about mine and Angela's brief dating stint meaning nothing, threatening him that he better not hurt her, and—after putting it all together that he's who had her fidgeting in my office that day—I give him the heads up on how I very much intend on teasing the shit out of her.

"As long as you apologize first about being an ass to her at work lately, I'm cool."

His voice leaves no room for interpretation. It's a threat, and it's noted. But I frown at his actual words. Yeah, I had a bad day, but what does he mean by _lately_?

He doesn't elaborate, but regardless, we leave things on a good note.

But the next morning his workout kicks my ass and I limp out of the gym with a reminder I better apologize to Angela once I get to work.

The minute I get there, I almost throw myself at her feet, begging her to tell me what I did wrong. Also shocked _she_ didn't call me out on it already.

Her answer is to say I've been an ass for more than a few days, but the reason she's been taking it in stride is because one: she's used to my moody ass and two: it's on me to figure this one out on my own and I will once things blow up in my face. I believe her exact words are, "You're normally good at trying to internalize, but you're a loose cannon waiting to explode. I can't stop it this time. It has to happen whatever way it's meant to."

A few days later, it's Christmas and I'm momentarily confused when I wake up to noise and chatter going on in my living room. With bleary eyes, I stumble from my bedroom and find everyone there; Jasper, Esme, Carlisle, Emmett, Angela, Bella, Alistair—everyone. The house is decorated—was it decorated before today?—and I smell food cooking.

"Edward! Merry Christmas."

I think that's the most excited Bella has been in addressing me since last month, but the look behind her eyes seems apprehensive like she doesn't know how _I'll_ react.

Mmmhh.

"Merry Christmas." I smile around a yawn, my mouth watering at the aroma coming from the kitchen. "What's going on?"

"We're having Christmas breakfast here," Esme says, a slight glare pointed at me. I don't get it, what did I do? "It's a surprise—Bella's idea."

"Oh, okay. Well, let me go and get ready." In my periphery, I see both their shoulders sag in relief.

Weird.

Breakfast is a quick ordeal—everyone else having other friends and family to go visit afterward—and the gift exchange is that much quicker.

Esme doesn't seem to mind that every single thing she got from me is really for the baby—even though she doesn't know what she's having yet, green and yellow go with everything, so I was told—and Bella seems content with the phone, gift cards and money I gave her. I don't think she realizes some of the cash I was giving her was her own money. But I think Angela does because she rolls her eyes at me.

A little while later we start scattering a bit, and while putting together a new TV stand Carlisle and Esme got me, I realize I haven't seen Alistair or Bella for a while. They had excused themselves to go and set up the game system he got her, but how long does that shit take? Something akin to panic creeps down my spine, but before I can mention it to anyone, I hear a squeal coming from Bella's room. I'm on my feet and headed that way in a flash.

Barging through the door, I don't take time to process _why_ they're on the bed or look around to focus on anything else. I just know I see his arms around her, her face red and I'm on him, pulling him away from her.

"Edward, stop!"

I hear the words, but I don't register who it's coming from as I snarl at Alistair, letting him know I'll sooner kill him with my bare hands before I let him hurt Bella. It isn't until I feel arms pulling me up and away from the floor do I realize I've actually been punching the shit out of him.

"Edward, we were just playing!" Bella's panicked voice snaps me out of it, but her face—she looks terrified of me. "He was ... he was tickling me. We were just playing."

"What the fuck, dude!"

I look down wide-eyed and shocked as Alistair scampers away from me, holding his now bloody nose.

I don't get a chance to say anything to him or Bella before Emmett and Jasper are dragging me out of the room, telling me I need to chill the hell out.

"Walk it off, Edward."

They don't have to tell me twice.

Storming out the front door, I start pacing the minute my feet hit the smooth concrete of my driveway.

"Fuck!" I shout it to the air, hands balled up into fists on each side of my head.

"Edward?" My whole body pivots at the sound of Bella's voice. When I face her—she looks different. Not as terrified as she was before. Now she looks angry and slightly disappointed.

It crushes me—_kills me _—that I've put that look on her face.

"Bella … I'm sorry. I thought he was hurting you." Her eyes narrow at me, but she doesn't say anything else. When I look around and notice Angela and Esme flanking her sides. I ask, "You're scared of me now?"

"She's not scared," Angels answers for her. "She's pissed."

"Bella, I'm—"

"Let her be." It's Carlisle that speaks up this time. His voice is hard—cold. I don't blame him, I just attacked his cousin. No matter what the reason, that's what I did. I look over at Alistair, and he's the only one who doesn't seem to want to rip me a new asshole right now. Even so, I open my mouth to apologize, but he stops me with a head nod.

"You saw what you saw. I don't blame you."

But it's clear everyone else does. I try to look at Bella again but I barely hold eye contact taking her in. Her eyes are red from crying, her glare is almost lethal, and her face is twisted in disgust. "I—I can't believe you attacked Alistair like that."

"I thought—"

"I know what you thought, but it doesn't make it okay."

It's then I realize she's heading for Esme's car, and when I try and stop her, Esme holds her hand up to stop me. "It's just for tonight or maybe a few days. Whatever she wants. But she wants her space, and wants to give you yours. Accept that."

Worded that way, I have no choice than to step back and watch as everyone climbs into their cars and drives off.

I don't know how long I stand on the driveway staring off into empty space. It's not warm enough that I should be standing out here in shorts and a T-shirt, but I welcome the slight, and unexpected, cool air smacking at my face.

This is probably the worst thing that could have happened. And on all days—Christmas.

God, Bella must think I'm a monster right now. I won't be surprised if the only reason she comes back is to move her things out of the house all together.

With that thought, I walk back inside with a heavy heart and feet dragging against the floor. My cell phone on the counter is already flashing, and when I pick it up, I realize I'd been standing outside for almost an hour.

The notifications are texts from Angela.

_**Well, that was interesting! :-o but no one's as mad as you think we are. So stop beating yourself up—you've done enough beating up for the day.**_

That text was sent twenty minutes before the second one that reads a simple, _**Too soon?**_

Not knowing how to answer that—too used to Angela's odd attempt at comfort—I reply and tell her I'll try.

For obvious reasons, I don't have a good night's sleep, and before the sun is fully up the next morning, I'm knocking on Esme's front door ready to do whatever I need to make things right.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	18. Chapter 18

**Yikes guys! **

**That's all I'll say!**

* * *

**Chapter 18:**

I stand outside for a few minutes, and continue ringing the bell, wondering if they might not be willing to let me in. Carlisle's finally the one to open it. I'm not surprised to find him glowering at me. I am surprised though when he says, "Took you long enough." I don't know how to respond to that, so I stick my hands in my pockets, sheepishly offering him an apology. But just like Alistair, he stops me. "Alistair broke down what happened. I hadn't realized what you walked in on. As a guy I get it, but—"

"Still doesn't make it alright. I know."

"Sure doesn't." He huffs. "His mom is really pissed by the way. So expect that phone call soon."

Noted.

"Is Bella up yet?"

"Yeah." He nods his head to the wall separating the entrance to the living room. "Good luck—you're gonna need it." I slap his shoulder one time in thanks, making my way past him but he stops me one more time. "One more thing, you owe me for having to deal with the backlash of the male bashing these two did last night."

When I round the wall, Bella's face and posture is more than unwelcoming. I've been head-to-head with flaring nostrils, crossed arms and crazy eyes before, but coming from Bella wrecks me in a different way.

I open my mouth to first ask if she slept on the couch, but shut it because the pillow and blanket answers that for me. An attempt at an apology comes next but is cut short when she snaps her head in my direction.

"Don't." Her voice comes out soft—as usual—but it's strong enough to stop me cold. "Don't say you're sorry if you don't mean it. I don't like when people do that."

"But I am." I want to rush to her but I don't. So with slow steps, I plead for her to believe me. "I'm so damn sorry, Bella. You have no idea. I sincerely thought he was hurting you—I would have never just attacked him like that otherwise." When she doesn't respond, I push. "Please say something."

"Why would you automatically assume he was hurting me?"

Why wouldn't I? I heard a noise come from her room and when I walked in he was on top of her.

When I explain the scenario to her, from my point of view, she responds with, "So?"

"What do you mean so?"

"I mean so. So what he was on top of me? What's that mean to you?"

There's several emotions behind her voice. Shock. Challenge.

What is she trying to play at?

"It's not hard to guess what I thought, Bella."

I don't know Bella's exact story, but I'm not dumb either. I don't know who, but someone hurt her. Someone in that house she lived in. And from her comments, and from what I know about her sister, there's no denying it was her step-dad. That thought alone has had me wanting to find out information on him and hunt him down. When I'm in the gym, I imagine his face—what he might look like. How bad I'd be able to hurt him and not get in trouble.

Nodding slowly, Bella averts her attention away from me, staring at the adjoining wall.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm trying to figure out why—why you care."

"Of course I care. What the … you know I care. "

"Do I? Because—" She cuts herself off, shaking her head slowly. When she finally looks up at me, she's sad again. "You say it's okay I'm here, but then you hide in your room, don't eat my food, and then you beat up my friend? And all because you care?"

I stand there still, not knowing what to say. How to defend myself against all my contradictory actions. "Bella, I know the past few days I've been—"

"Days?" The skin between my eyebrows pinches together at her confused and incredulous retort. Looking at me, Bella's demeanor not only softens, it almost deflates entirely. "A month."

"What's a month?"

"You've been ... for a month you've been ... since Thanksgiving Angela said, and Esme, too. They—they said ..." Taking in a deep breath, Bella stops her rambling, trying to compose herself, I guess. "They said it's not personal. That when you're upset you go to the gym a lot. And you stay in your room a lot. You're quiet. You don't like to talk. But I know you're upset because of me. How can it not be personal?"

"I'm not upset because of you though."

"Then why have you been?"

At a loss, I purse my lips and shrug. I've barely had time to process my own thoughts lately, how can I break them down to her? I don't want to say the wrong words, I don't want to upset her more than I already have, but my silence seems to anger her that much more.

"That's not fair. You ask me to trust you, but don't you think you have to trust me, too?"

Why wouldn't I trust her? "Of course I trust you."

"You don't treat someone you trust like you've been treating me. You don't ignore people you trust."

"Well, you were hiding from me," I counter. "Does that mean you don't trust me?"

Without hesitation, Bella shakes her head. "I don't trust anyone. But I want to. I want to trust you and I'm trying to be your friend. Why aren't you?"

The weight and double meaning of her words have me seeking leverage against the closest chair. "I am," I whisper, ignoring the thickness of my voice. I _am_ trying to trust, I _am_ trying to be her friend. I guess I just don't know how to show that to her.

I lose track of how many minutes pass by as I wait for a response, but when it's clear that part of the conversation is done, I still feel the need to plead my apology. "I'm sorry I ruined Christmas."

Bella lets out a short, unamused laugh, saying, "Even at its worst, yesterday was one of the best Christmases I've had in a long time."

What does one do when she makes comments like that? "Will you tell me—about a good one?"

"Me, my mom and my sister used to bake—like a lot. Especially on the holiday. One year, I ate so much cake and cookies I threw up all over myself in my dress. I don't even remember why that was a good day, but it was. I didn't get in trouble or scolded. My mom just pulled out another dress for me to change into."

The mention of this memory—I know there's more, there has to be. But at her silence, I choose not to push her on it. But it does pinpoint something we both know we need to talk about. "Where are they? Your mom and sister?"

When she tells me her mom died, I'm not surprised with the cryptic way she's been brought up before. But for Rose, Bella shrugs, keeping her face stoic. "I don't know where my sister is. I haven't seen her in almost ten years. She ran away after—"

"After?"

"I mean …" she shakes her head slowly, face pinching together. "I mean before we moved to California—she ran away before we moved."

"Is she the reason you guys moved?" Her face begs me to give her the reprieve against answering and I grant it to her. "We can talk about that later."

Later spans over the next few months as Bella tells me about her life in bits and pieces. It's never a full-fledged conversation, but it's enough that we cruise into what I consider a slow friendship. She doesn't talk about her past. She doesn't like to. And when I ask, she makes it pretty clear there'll be hell to pay if I don't drop it, and right that second.

A part of me doesn't have a problem with that—really. But as January fades into February, and we all start preparing for Esme to give birth, I can tell something's up with Bella.

And this time, I'm determined to find out what.

* * *

** Thanks for reading, for all your reviews, and for those rec'ing! Leg humps and kisses to all! Muah**

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


	19. Chapter 19

******Special love to Bridgette! And the girls in my group :-) And to everyone reading, reviewing and rec'ing. *Kisses***

******Note the time jump. **

* * *

**MARCH**

**Chapter 19:**

"But Angela," I whine. "I know you know, so tell me!"

"First, I don't know." She spins around in my office chair, kicking her feet in the air."And even if I did, rest assured I wouldn't tell you. I can't anyway."

"But—But …"

"I know what you're about to say." She stops the twirling to face me and glare at me. "And apart from it being to insult me that I'm not a real therapist, I'm still bound by code of ethics."

"Oh, ethics—smethics!"

"Really?"

"Angela." I blow out a breath, knowing I really need to show her how serious I am right now. Trying to act silly—like I'm asking out of nosiness is difficult when inside it feels like someone's slowly ripping me in two. "I live with a zombie. It's worse than when she first moved in. Even worse is that I'm trying—every second of the day to talk to her, get her to open up, but she won't bite. I'm worried."

"I know you are, but …" she sighs and reaches into her suit jacket. "Before I forget, Jasper had to rush out to a meeting. He told me to give you this." I gulp when she hands me the small sealed envelope. One of the good things about working where I do is being able to hire people you need to get information on someone who might not want to be found. "That's why I came in here to begin with."

"But you got distracted by my new chair."

"Exactly."

When she looks at me expectantly, I smirk.

"I'm not telling you what's in here. Unless you tell me what's wrong with Bella."

"Edward."

"Angela, just please tell me what you can without … I don't know, compromising yourself or whatever."

For a moment Angela stays silent—not moving, not speaking and stares at me. Whatever she's looking for, I know when she finds it because her shoulders fall and out of her mouth comes a whooshing sound from releasing the long and heavy breath.

"I can tell you she's been talking to me a lot more about some of the things that's happened to her, but I won't tell you what. It doesn't surprise me that she's closed off afterward. It's a lot when you force your mind to remember things you want to forget."

I try not to think too much about the details she's withholding, and more of what she's saying about Bella's behavior—not being surprised.

"So this this normal?" I ask, my voice full of hope.

"I didn't say it was normal or okay, just that I'm not surprised. I'm a little worried though because bottling up all that emotion isn't good for her."

I nod, letting her know I'm listening and that I understand.

With a clearing of her throat, and a pointed look at the envelope in my hand, Angela looks at me expectantly. I smirk, leaning over my desk as if I'm about to whisper some big secret to her, but I stop then laugh, tapping her on the forehead with the envelope. "I'm still not telling you what's in here."

On the way home, I'm surprised I don't get into or cause any accidents with how distracted I am thinking about what Angela said about Bella. I've done it—we've all done it before—bottling shit up, acting like you're okay when you're not. Then something happens, someone says something that makes you snap, triggers something inside of you and you explode. Initially, you might feel like shit, you _do_ feel like shit, but afterward, after getting whatever it was off your chest, you also feel lighter.

So, I know what she needs: a breakdown of some sort. A release of the anger or whatever else she might be feeling. And though I know she might hate me for it, I know what I have to do.

It's a struggle when I finally get home and sit down for dinner. What I want to do is take her hand and softly ask her what's going on, beg her to talk to me, but I don't because I know that won't work, either. It's gotten me no where in weeks.

I scowl when I look at the meal Bella puts in front of me. It's something new—she's been trying out different dishes lately—and in its own way, it looks good. I always tell her her food tastes good, even when it isn't the best, but this time I don't.

Poking it with my fork, I look up with my fake scowl still in place. "What is this?"

When her smile falls, I feel like the wind gets knocked out of me and have to grab hold of the bottom of the table to steady myself against the crushing guilt slamming into me.

"Oh, uh it—it's a ... casserole. A play on shepherd's pie."

I look down at the plate and frown. "It looks weird." I can't bring myself to actually lie and say anything worse than that.

"There's a lot more meat it in than—what are you doing?" she asks, sounding frantic when I stand up from the table.

Shrugging, I pick up the plate and rest it on the counter. "I'll make a sandwich."

"Do you want me to make it for you?"

"Uh, no. I think I'm capable of making my own, you know?"

"Did I do something to make you mad?"

God.

No.

Never.

Keeping my back to her, I try and steady my breathing but say nothing.

"You—you promised not to ignore me. That you'd tell me if something was wrong. After Christmas, remember, you promised me, Edward."

There's an edge to her voice, I close my eyes knowing what I'm doing to her.

_Come on, baby. Come on. Say something. Get mad._

"But if I did something—"

"You didn't do anything, okay?" I whirl around on her. "God, can't I just have a bad day?"

"Of course you can." She keeps her voice soft, though there's hurt there.

Fuck, this isn't working. "Forget it."

I grab my plate and stalk off to my room all while cursing myself under my breath. That has got to be the dumbest, most ill-conceived, idiotic …

A knock on my door stops my berating, but I ignore it. There's no way I can face Bella right now. I obviously need to first figure out a way to apologize to her for being an ass. Again. After I'd promised her to do better. About an hour later, I leave the room in search of her, only to find a plate with a sandwich resting on it, waiting for me by the door.

Trust me, it makes me feel like even more of a piece of shit.

On my quest, I find Bella sitting outside in front of the house, her legs crossed Indian style, pulling at the blades of grass.

Sensing I'm there, she starts speaking before I can say anything for myself.

"One time when I was eleven, or maybe I was ten, I don't know, Charlie's temper flared really bad one night."

Trying to compose myself, I take in a deep breath, close my eyes and fold my legs to sit down next to her. I know all about his damn temper and how he used to beat Bella for any reason he could find until he suddenly stopped when she was around thirteen or so. The first time she told me about it, I got so angry, the first thing I wanted to do was go to the gym and wail on a punching bag. But Bella, for some reason, thought I was angry at her and now when she lets little stories slip, I have to fight to look impassive.

"I don't even remember what I did that day, but I'll never forget how angry he looked. To this day I swear to God, Edward, he would have probably killed me." Sniffling, she looks over at me. "My mom, she'd never really gotten in the middle of it before. I liked to talk back—she let him discipline me. But this night, she must have seen something in his eyes because as he was approaching me she stepped up and slapped him." With a wince and a bitter chuckle, she looks away again, bringing her legs up to her torso. "It was so hard the noise echoed through the room. I think it was the equivalent of her throwing herself in front of a bullet for me because she distracted him long enough and he tore into her. Just like she'd wanted."

Over the past couple months, the few times Bella's willingly just dropped information on me like this is when she's wanted to make a paradox to another situation. Knowing this isn't any different, I look at her with expectant raised eyebrows.

"I know when someone's trying to make someone else mad," she whispers, looking back to me again. "I just don't know why you were doing it to me earlier."

I should have known she would have caught onto what I was doing.

With a deep sigh, my shoulders drop. "Bella, I'm sorry. I was just—"

"Trying to push my buttons, I know, but why?"

"You've been so ... off these days." I frown, forcing myself to look away from her wide, hurt eyes. "I just thought if got a reaction out of you, if I got you mad, you'd talk to me. It was stupid."

"Yeah, it was stupid. Not to mention selfish. What if I don't want to be mad? What if I just want to let go and forget?"

"Look, I get it, but—"

"No, you don't! You don't get it, okay? None of you do. You, Angela, Esme—the girls at the center, none of you get it, so stop trying to pretend like you do." With a huff, she stands up and stomps back inside the house, leaving me on the ground groaning in frustration.

All I want to do is help her, and yeah, I might not be doing the best job at that, but I'm trying and that doesn't seem good enough.

Taking a deep breath, I reach into my pocket and take out the contents of the envelope. In it, holds what I know is the key to getting Bella better.

In it, is Rosalie's address.

* * *

**Dun. Dun. Dun.**

**So what did you think? **

**I think with each chapter the responses are getting even more mixed than in the beginning lol But big thanks to all of you who are still reading. As for questions about how long this is going to be, after the next couple of chaps we have a few big and significant time jumps. But we're still only about halfway there. **

******How do YOU guys think Bella will react to seeing her sister again? **Some mysteries about their upbringing will get answered soon and it won't be pretty. 

**But, first! Esme has to have the baby and her and Edward will have a long, much anticipated talk. You'll see what I mean when the time comes.**

**Sidenote to "Luck" readers. *sigh* I know it's been a while (again) but I'm working on completing it and then I'll post the remaining chaps. Thank you all for your patience. **

**Until Next Time**

**~Lo**


End file.
